


Damn It, Why Won’t the Eagle Just Land Already?

by somewhereelse



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 65,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: President John Diggle would really appreciate it if everyone would stop gossiping about his security detail and his science advisor and get back to work. He’d appreciate it even more if his best friends would pull their heads out of their asses and get together already.A White House romantic comedy AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. I woke up from a nap on a plane to this eating my brain. As usual, I know nothing about the daily operations of the White House. I was going to rewatch The West Wing for protocol and ish (as fictionalized as it would be) but then I figured AU so here lie inaccuracies, nepotism, cronyism, conflicts of interests, poor governance, embellishments, etc. Don’t @ me.

 

Director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy.

When that was her job title, Felicity really shouldn’t be running helter skelter through the halls of the White House. Especially as the first  _woman_  appointed to the position. Especially as the  _youngest_  person appointed to the position.

Unfortunately for her attempts to maintain professionalism and replace fewer high heels, it was a common enough occurrence that staffers merely hugged the walls as they saw her approach. Good thing it was too early for visitors. They were unsuspecting and unpredictable obstacles who usually ended up startled and scattered by her one woman stampede. Security and helpful staff alike held open doors to ease her path, calling out cheerful “Good morning, Director Smoak!”s that she breathlessly returned. Finally in sight of her destination, she slowed to a walk to catch her breath and smooth her ponytail.

The president’s executive secretary wasn’t fooled though and sent her an amused look.

“Good morning, Thea. Not a word, Thea. I’m here for my meeting, Thea,” Felicity cut her off, knowing she’d catch hell for it later. She peeked at her wrist, the watch screen immediately lighting up, and breathed a sigh of relief. Only two minutes late. Resisting the urge to give him a middle finger first, Felicity nodded to Roy, who schooled his smirk before stepping forward to open the final door.

The inner sanctum.

The Oval Office.

 

* * *

 

President John Diggle had the highest approval rating of any president in the last decade and was the first president in  _two_  decades to have any success reaching across the aisle. (In his personal opinion, the bar was so low those weren’t even accomplishments.) He was also the youngest president in history, and while many considered that a strike against him, Dig didn’t think the country should in the hands of someone required to retake their driver’s license test because of old age.

Diggle’s personal list of accomplishments went something like this. Lyla was only moderately resentful of having to step down from her super top secret job to avoid conflicting with his political aspirations, and precocious yet perfect Sara was on track to give him a heart attack in a few years. His reputation and military record were impeccable, not a whiff of scandal that could be used as leverage. His cabinet and staff trusted him enough to tell him when they thought he was wrong, and they considered him a  _friend_.

Steadfast, loyal, caring, dignified, humble, uncompromising, farsighted.

Unfortunately for his sanity, none of the qualities that contributed to his election to the highest office of the United States of America were going to help him survive his morning meeting.

Currently, the most trusted agent of his security detail, the man who unfailingly guarded his six during his last tour, was distracted by his science advisor. To be fair, Oliver was still aware of every inch of the room and beyond, a cricket couldn’t jump in the bushes outside the window without him sensing it. It’s just that every few seconds, those keen eyes would pause and settle on Felicity, who for some reason couldn’t stop adjusting her glasses this morning.

“Mr. President?” John realized he’d slipped into observation mode during Felicity’s summary, though his expression wouldn’t reveal that. “You look preoccupied. Should we reschedule?”

Or maybe it would. Great, now Oliver looked alert, too, no longer at ease. He couldn’t very well tell the blind idiots—he called his best friends that with every ounce of loving fondness possible—that he was preoccupied by their strange behavior and lack of progress. If his and Lyla’s relationship had moved at this glacial pace, he wouldn’t be half the man he was today, never mind president.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just back up a few steps.”

Felicity sent him a searching look before doing as asked. Unlike some of his other directors, she was good at breaking down her techno jargon into digestible chunks without being prompted. Their meeting ended promptly, and John gave her a sincere and grateful smile even as his phone rang. He was almost too distracted by the Japanese ambassador to notice their increasingly odd behavior as Felicity left the office.

Per protocol and his manners, Oliver went to open the door for her, stepping closer than strictly necessary. Briefly, he saw the black flash of Roy’s suit jacket as he moved away from the open doorway. Except Felicity didn’t walk through. She lingered for a second, turning ever so slightly into Oliver. Her hand reached up as if to straighten his tie before she thought better of it and quickly left. When Oliver resumed his post, the man he previously thought unflappable had the slightest tinge of red on his cheeks.

Oh brother. John rolled his eyes. At least this interaction, or lack thereof, would entertain Lyla during dinner tonight.

 

* * *

 

“You’re on the interwebs again,” Thea commented teasingly, waving her phone in his general direction. Next to her, Roy suppressed a snort.

Why, oh why, did he choose to spend his one night off hanging out with his little sister and his underling who’s definitely trying to get in her pants and maybe already succeeded? Oliver grimaced at his internal train of thought. He didn’t need to be told that second degree murder, even when it’s your sister’s boyfriend, was frowned upon in the Secret Service.

“You mean that Tumblr about Secret Service agents?” His question was mainly to humor her because he knew that was the only answer. By mandate and his own preference, his social media presence was limited to the occasional family photo Thea felt inclined to post. Even that was rare, since her previous attention seeking was sharply curtailed and ruthlessly cleaned up after earning the job as Dig’s executive secretary. The president had hand-selected her from hundreds of candidates, partially because of his loyalty to the Queen family and the Queen family’s loyalty to him, and she rose to the task admirably.

The only reason Thea knew about that Tumblr in the first place was because of—

No, she was like Beetlejuice. Or maybe not because he’d never seen her wearing anything close to pinstripes and she wasn’t intentionally turning his life upside down in a weird supernatural way. But it was true that if he thought of Felicity too much or heard her name too many times, sometimes even just once, he’d be distracted for the rest of the day. He couldn’t sink into “heart eyes” territory with Thea observing him.

Thea laughed a little at his pretended ignorance. “That Tumblr about  _hot_  Secret Service agents? No idea why  _you’re_  on there though. But, no, it’s on Twitter. A meme.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. Great. He really needed to worry about being a laughingstock at work in the morning because some smartass with a smartphone decided to make him an internet joke.

Roy barked a loud laugh after Thea showed him, and Oliver grimaced again. Fucking fantastic. If Roy, whose emotional vocabulary was limited to annoyed/annoying, smug, and infatuated with his sister, thought it was funny, the rest of the team was never going to let him live it down.

“Don’t you want to see?” Thea taunted before her phone landed on his stomach. Since he wasn’t expecting it, Oliver coughed a little as the breath was knocked out of him. He glared at Thea before picking up the device by its sides, careful not to touch the screen.

The picture was from a policy announcement a few days ago. A wide shot of the entire setup instead of only the speaker. Felicity, a focused and serious look on her face that he silently noted as adorable, was at the podium bearing the presidential seal. Since he was standing to the side by the steps he assumed it was during her opening remarks before Dig took her place for the official announcement. There was nothing spectacular about the photo, just another day in a seemingly endless line of them, at least for the next three years, so he raised his eyebrows at Thea.

Prepared for his cluelessness, she rolled her eyes. “The caption, dummy.”

Oh. There. Above the photo.

_Get you a man who wants to Kevin Costner your Whitney and roleplay Bodyguard_

Growing up the way they did, all staid and proper, and then joining the Army, Oliver admittedly missed out on a lot of pop culture. But not even Moira Queen had been immune to the powers of Whitney Houston. He grasped the reference immediately, eyes automatically focusing back on the picture to find that it was... accurate.

Really damn accurate.

He totally looked like he’d sweep Felicity into his arms bridal style and carry her off to bed.

Tossing back the phone, Oliver did his best to ignore Thea’s cackling.

 

* * *

 

“What does the president think of sexual harassment in the context of workplace romances?”

Press Secretary Dinah Drake almost rolled her eyes, but she kept it together. If it hadn’t been for Thea sending around that meme last night, she would have had no idea what the reporter was fishing for. Not when her damn interns, who should be her source for stupid shit on the internet, were too scared to tell her about the stupid shit on the internet because she might think it was  _too_  stupid. As if it was only the internet.  _All_  of it was too stupid.

“That’s what you want to use your question on, Richard?” she asked judgmentally, and the man shrugged unapologetically.

His defense was, “It’s relevant to current events.”

Dinah sighed. She couldn’t argue with that, unfortunately. “The president believes mutual consent is paramount in all situations, including the workplace. Anything less should not be tolerated and should be actionable as befits the circumstances.” There was a pause as the press conceded the answer had laid the matter to rest. For now.

Then, to needle the two idiots she called her friends, she added, “Now, if you’re done writing fanfiction about the personal lives of the White House staff, can we move on?”

The room, including the normally impassive security, shared a chuckle. There. That ensured it would reach Roy’s, then Thea’s, then Oliver’s and Felicity’s, ears.

 

* * *

 

“First item on the agenda,” Felicity began when the room finally settled down enough to begin the weekly staff meeting, “We are  _not_  talking about it. We are not alluding to it. We’re not making inside jokes about it. We are not blasting Whitney Houston because you just felt like it and you don’t know why I’m suddenly hating on The Prom Queen of Soul.”

Her pointed glare at her assistant director was met with a barely contained grin.

“If you haven’t seen what I’m talking about, come see me after. You clearly need to be reassigned from OSTP.”

To her gratification, the jokes dispelled the immediate curiosity, and the meeting proceeded as planned. Felicity had considered not saying anything at all but figured pretending the meme didn’t exist was an exercise in futility. A popular DC satire Instagram account had reposted it this morning, and probably everyone who worked on the Hill had seen it by the end of rush hour. The last thing she needed as a single, young female in an unprecedented position of authority was speculation about her love life, or lack thereof, derailing her day, but it was apparently inevitable. At least she didn’t have any scheduled meetings or appearances with the Executive Office for a few days.

“What? I was just feeling some “I Will Always Love You” this morning,” Curtis had the lack of self-preservation to comment after the meeting. “I’m sure Thea was, too,” he added in a quick mutter.

Oh, great. Felicity rolled her eyes. She could imagine the Argentinian president or someone accidentally timing their arrival to  _The Bodyguard_  soundtrack. With her luck, an ill-timed joke about her and a Secret Service agent was going to set off an international incident.

“Stop it,” Felicity glared harder when Curtis shot her a look of feigned innocence, “I can hear you humming “I Have Nothing”. You’ll really have nothing if I fire you.”

“I’ll have the love of a good man,” he retorted, referring to his husband Paul with waggling eyebrows. When she glared again, he finally took her seriously, holding up his hands in surrender and belatedly retreating to his office.

In the comfort of her own office, Felicity let her head drop to her hands. After a few moments of deep breathing, she reached for her phone and the photo that happened to be open on one of the many tabs of her browser. Holy Google, did he always look at her like that? No, it must have been a fluke, a mere fraction of a second the photographer happened to capture.

Her desk phone rang, and Felicity groaned when she glanced at the calendar reminder.

“Gerry! Tell the lobbyists to fuck off!”

 

* * *

 

Sara Lance was returning to active duty. She had been, in her words,  _lightly_  bruised. In layman’s terms, she had been  _shot_. Thankfully, not in the actual line of duty protecting the president’s convoy—the last time on the campaign trail had gotten her a namesake in the form of Sara Diggle later—but in a shooting range accident during training. If no one had heard from said trainee recently, well, she could neither confirm nor deny anything. In any case, she segued her week-long medical leave, which was most definitely overkill and unnecessary, into a week-long vacation with Nyssa.

The great reveal of the bane of Felicity’s and Oliver’s existences happened right about the time she and Nyssa exchanged their winter coats in DC for swimsuits in Mexico. Where most importantly, they had no internet or cell service. She’s sure Felicity could have rigged up something for them, but they weren’t about to  _ask_  for connectivity.

That was why when Thea suggested a karaoke bar for their first happy hour back, Sara didn’t really think anything of it. Singing was sort of in their (drunk) friends’ wheelhouses, and the reason they hadn’t gone to karaoke bars before was because of government salaries, social media, and the ever crumbling expectation of privacy. But Thea found a new place with private rooms, and Felicity and Curtis were on hand to make sure it stayed that way.

So the weird part wasn’t the karaoke.

The weird part was Oliver and Felicity keeping a minimum distance of four feet between them and at least two other people in any conversation. It was so precise Sara was convinced they somehow had a measuring tape and a magician with them. If one shifted an inch, so did the other, and if one person left them, magically another appeared in the group.

And the weirdest part was that Whitney Houston had been banned. Which had greatly displeased Nyssa because “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” was her favorite karaoke song. Like she had tried to select it on the machine earlier in the night and the title literally disappeared before her eyes. Which meant Felicity was involved in enforcing the ban.

“Hey,” she snagged Tommy on his way down from the small stage, “What’s up with them?” Further clarification was so unnecessary.

“Oh,” his eyes lit up and practically twinkled at her, “you missed it.” Tommy made small noises of distress as he searched his pockets. “Where the eff is my—damn it, Roy! Give me back my phone! Sara missed it! You’re going to love this. Almost makes me wish I worked with you whack jobs just for the access.”

“Missed what?” Thea joined them, bringing over Tommy’s phone after retrieving it from a snickering Roy. The younger girl, always affectionate when tipsy, cuddled against her side as Tommy thumbed through his phone.

Sara nudged her with her shoulder. “Hey, what’s with the Whitney ban? Nyssa was looking forward to it.”

Tommy paused in his searching to shoot an incredulous look at her. “ _Nyssa_  lik”—she raised a challenging eyebrow—“contains multitudes, obviously.” Her response to that poor save was cut off by his excited exclamation. “ _That_ is why there’s a Whitney ban.”

Turning his phone upright and in her direction, Sara chuckled. Then she dissolved into laughter as Thea did her best to hold her up. Oh, that was gold. No wonder Ollie looked like someone jammed a(nother) stick up his ass. Eventually Nyssa came over to them, helping to prop up her easily amused girlfriend.

“Get me Curtis,” she finally instructed to Thea, “Long live Whitney.”

 

* * *

 

The meme should have died by now.

Really, the lifespan of things on the internet these days, especially things that were specific to a certain subset of people in a defined geographic area, lasted all of twelve hours. There had been a multiday power failure in the New York City metro area, a much publicized visit with the Canadian prime minister, and a foiled terrorism attack in London. No one should remember one photo of barely visible public servants and a barely witty caption over a week later.

Yet here they were.

Because their friends were assholes.

Ugh.

His first full day off in two weeks and he woke up mildly hungover and massively annoyed. Sara, unashamed shit stirrer that she was, finally caught up on the meme and somehow convinced Curtis, unashamed fanboy of a nonexistent relationship that he was, to defy his friend and  _boss_  to hack through whatever Felicity used to block the karaoke machine. After grumbling for a minute, Felicity decided to do the good-natured thing and suffer through a few songs. No one suspected Nyssa, unashamed Whitney Houston fan that she was, had a set of pipes and more than a few songs in her repertoire.

Then someone (Sara) stole his phone and gave it to someone (Curtis), and until he visited someone (Felicity) who could fix it, his ringtone was a snippet of “I’m Every Woman”. Good thing he left his phone on vibrate most of the time. The only reason he knew of the change was because someone (Thea) turned the volume up and gave him a wakeup call at 6 a.m. on  _not_   _her_  day off.

Hence, mildly hungover and massively annoyed.

His phone chimed, and he rolled over to look at the preview. If that was Thea yet again—No, it was Felicity. Quickly, he pulled it off the charger as the messages rolled in.

FS, 7:43 AM: Good morning   
FS, 7:43 AM: Sorry about last night   
FS, 7:44 AM: I would have stopped them but Nyssa’s kind of terrifying

Yeah, there was an understatement. Even with his clearance, he couldn’t access her file to look into her background. The only things Sara let slip and that he’d witnessed for himself were that her education and training had been _extensive_  and she had more diplomatic privileges than he thought possible.

FS, 7:45 AM: Anyway I hope you enjoy your day off! You deserve it

And just like that, his day was suddenly looking up.

 

* * *

 

“What are you smiling at?”

Looking like a caught high schooler, Felicity dropped her hands under her desk, hiding her phone from prying eyes. Then she rolled her eyes at her own immature reaction. “Go away. You’re on my shit list still. Probably forever.”

Ignoring the warning, Dinah scoffed and sunk into one of the visitor chairs. “Me? What about Sara? Or Curtis?”

“Sara doesn’t feel remorse,” after a pause, Felicity equivocated on the unambiguous statement, “Well, not about things like that. And Curtis is being suitably punished this morning. I made him give a presentation to a visiting seventh grade class.”

Yeesh. For all that the man could act like one, he did not do well around children, and even worse around preteens and teenagers. Something about all his earnestness was exacerbated in the most awkward way when confronted with unflinching apathy. “Oh, that’s the worst grade. They’re all hormonal messes with enough disdain to fuel an island nation. Way to make your point, Smoak.”

With a smug grin, Felicity nodded emphatically. “That’ll teach you to cross me. Did you need something, Ms. Drake? A statement on the progress of the fiber optic initiative? Or a quote on that meme you guys won’t let die?”

Feeling more amused than guilty, she murmured, “Wait until you hear Oliver’s ringtone.” At a normal volume, Dinah responded, “Morning briefing got pushed for something or the other. Thought I’d take a walk. Want to update me on the fiber optic initiative in case I need feel good news?”

Felicity did just that, fingers never leaving her phone. A message came in, the screen lighting up, and Dinah saw the way she struggled to not immediately look. Deciding to spare Felicity more grief for the moment, she left after confirming their weekend plans.

It really was a shame they couldn’t hang out with Dig and Lyla anymore like on the campaign trail. They’d have to be satisfied by the small tidbits the rest of them could wring out of the pseudo couple whenever possible and manage to relay to the couple without arousing suspicion. Which was to say almost never.

 

* * *

 

OQ, 8:01 AM: Thanks. Might try out some new recipes

FS, 8:27 AM: Your idea of relaxation is so strange

OQ, 8:45 AM: Um. You consider coding relaxing. Pot, kettle   
OQ, 8:47 AM: Plans tonight?

FS, 9:17 AM: Work? Sleep if I’m lucky?

OQ, 9:28 AM: Can I come by for some help? A favor really. I’ll bring food

FS, 9:43 AM: Magic words. Should be home by 7. Let you know if I’m running late

 

* * *

 

Felicity sat cross legged on the floor in front of her coffee table, Oliver’s tank of a work phone almost dwarfing her hands. When he said he couldn’t change his ringtone, she figured he was just missing the obvious, not that Curtis had gotten ahold of the phone and wreaked havoc. And since Curtis knew he’d be caught, he hadn’t worried about finesse and used seemingly every trick in his book to destroy the function.

Luckily, Felicity had a few more tricks in  _her_  book.

She couldn’t be entirely smug, though. The whole thing was obviously a ploy to get Oliver to come to her for help, since not even the Secret Service techs would spend the time to untangle the mess Curtis had made, and it worked like a charm. Damn her reputation and inability to turn down a challenge.

A wine glass appeared out of the corner of her eye, and she jumped a little. Oliver immediately apologized, “Sorry, I thought you heard me coming. Guess it’s more complicated than I thought?”

Had she died and gone to heaven? Oliver Queen had cooked her dinner, given her a batch of muffins for the office, handed her a technological puzzle to solve, and brought her wine. Then he had the gall to squeeze her shoulder before making himself comfy on the couch. For a long moment, she stared at his jean-clad knee next to her before trailing down to his socked feet jammed under the bottom shelf of the coffee table.

_You know what they say about big feet..._

With that wholly inappropriate thought she prayed she hadn’t voiced out loud, Felicity jolted herself back into the present. “Yeah, not exactly Curtis’ cleanest work. Looks something like performing heart surgery with a chainsaw.”

She twisted around so he could see her apologetic grimace but wasn’t prepared for the serene look on his face. Or the soft half-smile he offered. Was the man  _trying_  to kill her?

“Take your time,” Oliver made a sweeping gesture with the beer he’d been sipping from, “It’s been a while since we hung out, just the two of us. I’ve missed it.”

Because they had nosy friends who, in an attempt to remind Felicity that she needed a life outside of work (not that any of them really had room to judge), were constantly trying to match make the two of them. The last thing she wanted was to lose his friendship because the others didn’t recognize boundaries and were making him uncomfortable by basically foisting her on him. So she’d taken a step back from their solo hangouts, citing the legitimate reason of work being busy.

While she always made time for the important people in her life, like friends and her mother, but she couldn’t keep making a special effort for Oliver. Not when he so clearly had her in the friend camp. It was confusing to her and their friends and giving them ammunition to continue their unsubtle winks and nudges.

Felicity made a sound of agreement before turning back to the phone she’d left on the coffee table. Her heart was pounding, and her palms felt sweaty, and this was the exact situation she’d been trying to avoid. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment to push it all down then focused on the problem at hand.

After a long stretch of silence only broken by her muttering to herself, she remembered to ask Oliver if he wanted to turn on the TV. With her permission, he channel surfed before settling on a Doctor Who rerun. When she turned to him in surprise, he merely shrugged, “It’s your favorite, right?”

Yeah, a heart attack was definitely imminent.

Until she heard him add under his breath in a low murmur, “You’re such a nerd.” Her heart swung from pounding to stopped in half a second. Talk about a reality check.

 

* * *

 

TQ, 6:22 AM: MAYDAY o’s ringtone is back to normal  
TQ, 6:22 AM: CURTIS

CH, 6:23 AM: excuse you capslocky mcgee. i didnt cave. he didnt even ask me 

CR, 6:23 AM: he could have asked me. you know the secret service tech specialist

SL, 6:24 AM: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

DD, 6:24 AM: do you think they saw each other last night? dinner? SEX?

TQ, 6:24 AM: EWWWWWWW

DD, 6:25 AM: THEA, SHUT YOUR EARS/EYES

CH, 6:25 AM: everyone turn your caps lock off before i do it for you

RH, 6:26 AM: hey how about everyone SHUT UP its my day off and its too early for this shit   
RH, 6:27 AM: and thea youve wanted a niece/nephew for years   
RH, 6:28 AM: how do you think its going to happen

TQ, 6:28 AM: the stork will drop one off  
TQ, 6:29 AM: but seriously find out who fixed his ringtone bc i dont believe cisco

CR, 6:29 AM: HEY   
CR, 6:29 AM: RUDE   
CR, 6:33 AM: oh now everyones radio silent

CH, 8:21 AM: very important update requiring legitimate use of caps lock: FELICITY IS HUMMING I’M EVERY WOMAN AND BROUGHT IN HOMEMADE BLUEBERRY MUFFINS

TQ, 8:22 AM: !!!!!!!!

CH, 8:23 AM: SHE IS SIDE EYING ME LIKE SHES GONNA KILL ME IF I ASK WHO MADE THEM

CR, 8:23 AM: DO ITTTTTTT

DD, 8:24 AM: DO NOT! hes our only source in that office   
DD, 8:24 AM: i dont have time to recruit a new one   
DD, 8:25 AM: brb on tv

SL, 8:28 AM: d they totally caught you   
SL, 8:28 AM: quick distract them with more fanfic   
SL, 8:35 AM: damn girl i didnt think youd do it

 

* * *

 

“Everyone’s staring at us.”

Roy shrugged and took a healthy bite of his sandwich. They were, but it was more fun to make Oliver think he was being paranoid. Around his mouthful of food, he garbled, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With narrowed eyes, Oliver tossed a balled up napkin at him. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. What the hell does Thea see in you anyway?”

He was tempted to make a quip about his dick but figured that’d be pushing a desperate man over the edge and he didn’t feel like dying today. Instead, he shrugged again, making Oliver grimace. “At least I’m not paranoid.”

“I’m  _not_ paranoid.” Roy silently added “ _This time_ ” to himself. “For a Secret Service agent, your situational awareness needs work,” Oliver retorted in a grumble.

Great, now he was going to hear about it at his performance review, too.

Roy smirked a little before deciding to let him in on the joke. He got the complaints about “his” generation spending too much time on their phones, but Oliver really needed to at least keep up with the times. “Speaking of situational awareness, maybe they’re trying to confirm something a little birdie told them.”

Hilariously, Oliver paled before fumbling his phone out of his inner pocket. It was a lame joke, but Birdie happened to be the Secret Service’s codename for the Press Secretary. Roy gave him a minute to find the video of the morning’s briefing then helpfully hinted, “Start at the two minute mark.”

Somehow, Oliver didn’t look like he appreciated the help.

The video played with the volume barely loud enough for him to hear Dinah’s voice over the ambient noise of the cafeteria. Roy struggled to suppress his laughter as she tersely answered a needling question then paused as if deciding to deflect. When she continued, her tone was casual and relaxed, but he could hear the slightest touch of amusement as she got to the punchline.

“Some good news for the day. OSTP’s fiber optic initiative is ahead of schedule so citizens in those traditionally underserved areas will soon enjoy all the high speed internet privileges of the metro areas. I hear Netflix added  _The Bodyguard_  back to their streaming library last month.”

The laugh burst out of him as Oliver’s expression soured, almost pouting.

 

* * *

 

THE OFFICE OF THE FIRST LADY

Ms. Lance:

As always, thank you for your continued service to our country, and in particular my own family. I sincerely regret that you were once again injured in the course of performing those duties. We’ve been overjoyed by the news of your speedy recovery and return to the White House. Sara and I look forward to seeing how well you’ve recovered in person.

Sincerely,   
Lyla Michaels Diggle

 

* * *

 

Sara rolled her eyes a little at the formal summons she received from Lyla this morning. The message was clear: Great you’re back; come give me gossip.

It—fan club, stalking, shipping, whatever—started on the campaign trail. At a Silicon Valley fundraiser, Dig met then-Palmer Tech Vice President Felicity Smoak and immediately started recruiting her to be his science advisor in the event of a presidential victory. Little did they know, Ollie met the woman he’d fall in love with when she joined them for the last few months of the campaign. By the time Dig was sworn into office, they were both head-over-heels and completely oblivious. So the number of well-wishers and the size of the betting pool grew as Diggle filled his Executive Office positions.

What started with a handful of them—Sara, Diggle, Lyla, Chief of Staff Walter Steele, and Vice President Quentin Lance—quickly included Thea, Dinah, Curtis and OSTP, Roy and the president’s security detail, and probably a whole bunch of others she didn’t even know about. And apparently now a mess of people on social media.

Unfortunately, unlike in the campaign days when they lived on top of each other in hotel rooms and buses, they were all pretty silo’ed in their own departments. Only a few people, meaning her and Roy, could move freely throughout the building without raising suspicion. John and Lyla felt the separation the most with the almost tangible brick wall of decorum standing between them and their closest friends. No more after work drinks, no more inane group texts too early in the morning, barely any time to just be themselves.

That much was obvious from the way Lyla glared at the White House social secretary and the list of invitations in Carrie’s hands. She couldn’t imagine how much Lyla must have been dying on the inside. The life of the first lady was a far cry from running black ops missions in the Middle East. In the doorway, Sara made a brief motion to catch Lyla’s eye. Lyla immediately spotted her and clung on for dear life.

“Let’s pick this up tomorrow, Carrie.”

Clearly surprised, Carrie left with a deferential, “Of course, Mrs. Diggle.” But not without staring suspiciously and almost sneering at Sara where she was leaning against the door frame.

Ignoring the mediocre insult, she stepped into the office and shut the door behind her, affording Lyla enough privacy to distractedly brush at her bangs. “Well that looked fascinating,” she noted sarcastically, teasing a smile from her old friend.

“Holiday party guest list. I don’t see what’s so difficult about copying last year’s list and updating the names for the positions.” Lyla rolled her eyes, no doubt recalling all the times actual lives depended on her ability to multitask and improvise. “But that’s unimportant. Sit. Tell me how you’re doing. Nyssa, too.”

“Back in one piece. No holes in my abdomen or anything. Vacay was great. Nyssa got so tan I think her father’s going to send her on some shady undercover op while she can blend in with the locals.” Sara smirked a little when Lyla pulled a face. “But you didn’t hear that from me. I’m also not telling you about how awkward they were at karaoke the other night.”

Lyla actually face palmed. “Did you know I missed that meme until last week? You know what, Lance? You’re going out and buying me a burner phone so I can get in on these group texts. Little hints in Dinah’s briefings aren’t cutting it. And Johnny never has to know.”

Smirking, Sara winked. “Don’t worry, Michaels. I got your back.”

“Details then. Remind me what the pool looks like.”

She paused to enjoy the sorely missed sight of Lyla Michaels issuing orders. “It was hilarious. They were so careful to maintain distance the entire night like that photo wasn’t about them standing fifteen feet apart and still being  _so_  obvious. We got Curtis to bust through Felicity’s block on the karaoke machine, and Nyssa crushed every Whitney song she knew and then some. She’s the only one who could have gotten away with it, too, because Ollie looked murderous.”

“Thea, obviously, is trying to stack the deck for the staff holiday party. Curtis thinks it won’t happen because Oliver will want to avoid the cliché or like he’s just lonely for the holidays. The rest of us think he’s overestimating Ollie’s game level. He’s all heart when it comes to Felicity, no concept of context or situational awareness. I bet he’ll propose with the ring in a dessert.”

After a deliberating silence, Lyla nodded. “Agreed. How’s it looking on the Felicity front?”

“Deny, deny, deny. I know she wears glasses, but girl is  _blind_. She’s friend-zoning herself. We’re working on it.”

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Lyla sighed in annoyance. With an apologetic look, she permitted her secretary entry and stood formally. “Thank you for the update, Agent Lance. Glad to have you back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sara’s eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll have that package delivered for Sara tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Laura Mitchell has joined the conversation.

LM, 7:34 PM: IM ALIVE

TQ, 7:35 PM: ngl, mrs diggle. i read that in mushu voice

LM, 7:35 PM: oh no. not on this phone you dont   
LM, 7:36 PM: its lyla or michaels or diggle without the mrs or even agent   
LM, 7:36 PM: love the man. changing my name and limiting my identity to wife was never part of the vows. neither time

CR, 7:37 PM: WAIT WHAT

DD, 7:38 PM: they married then divorced then married again   
DD, 7:38 PM: how do you not know this   
DD, 7:39 PM: oh right. bandwagoner

CR, 7:39 PM: IM SORRY I DIDNT CARE ENOUGH ABOUT POLITICS TO CAMPAIGN

TQ, 7:40 PM: millennials   
TQ, 7:40 PM: add democracy to the list of everything you ruin

CR, 7:43 PM: THEA QUEEN (OF MILLENNIALS). YOU ARE THE MOST MILLENNIAL OF US ALL

CH, 7:48 PM: there. now no one can caps lock. see what you did?   
CH, 7:48 PM: you ruined it for everyone   
CH, 7:48 PM: happy now?

TQ, 7:50 PM: ill be happy when i get my caps lock back

CH, 7:51 PM: no you have to earn it first. millennials are so entitled

TQ, 7:52 PM: are we rationing capital letters now? is this really happening comrade?

CH, 7:53 PM: yes   
CH, 7:53 PM: dont make me take your emojis away too

LM, 7:57 PM: i never thought id say this but i missed all of this stupidity so much

RH, 8:21 PM: i wouldnt

 

* * *

 

“Are you taking a date?”

Had Thea really called him to hassle him about his love life, or lack thereof? He’s pretty sure the answer is  _yes_  so he decided to play dumb. “A date? To what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Ollie. You know I’m talking about the holiday party.”

Voice sharp and berating him about his love life, Oliver laughed a little at the uncanny resemblance. “You sound like Mom.” He sucked in a sharp breath after the statement, remembering too late how Thea never liked the comparison.

There was a brief pause before Thea very quietly admitted, “I miss her.”

“Me, too, Speedy,” Oliver returned, “This time of year more than ever.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment until Thea cut back in, voice back to its usual tartness, “Anyway. Date? Holiday party? Yes? No?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “It’s practically a work event.” And the one woman he was interested in would already be in attendance.

“It’s really not, Ollie,” he heard her impatient sigh over the background noise, “You’re not on John’s security detail that night. He made sure you had the night of the Christmas party off because it’s your favorite holiday.”

“It’s a  _holiday_  party, Thea,” he reminded her almost unconsciously.

Another sigh. He could start a drinking game based on how many times Thea sighed in a conversation with him. Maybe not because he’d be wasted in five minutes.

“Yes, and the only reason you care so much about the distinction is because  _Felicity_  is Jewish so you’ve expanded your love of Christmas to be a little more interfaith and seasonal instead of specific to a religion we never seriously practiced. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Maybe you should ask Felicity to be your date.”

Oliver felt vaguely like a hypocrite because now it was him sighing at her. “It’s called being a considerate friend and not being religiously insensitive or overstepping boundaries by asking her to be an obligatory date.”

“It’s called being a wuss,” Thea corrected sharply.

Oliver just pretended to not hear her.

 

* * *

 

Tommy sucked in a deep breath. Then another. And another. Finally, he straightened out enough to glare at Oliver. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Only a little amused by the sight of his best friend keeled over and out of breath at the end of their run, Oliver wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt before shrugging, “Nothing. You’re out of shape.”

That earned him an annoyed glare. Tommy wasn’t. At least not compared to the average Joe. But when pitted against a Secret Service agent, he couldn’t always keep up. Normally, Tommy’s cardio was on par with his, but Oliver was... agitated this morning.

Clearly the low blow made Tommy feel fiesty because he rolled his eyes and snapped, “Why am I asking? You’re too emotionally constipated to even know.”

Oliver leveled him with a dry look. The insult was one of Tommy’s methods to draw him out of his shell and actually talk about his feelings. He usually couldn’t turn down the challenge, but it wouldn’t work this time.

He knew exactly why he was in a shitty mood. He just wasn’t going to tell Tommy. His best friend would never let him live it down if he admitted his bad attitude was because he hadn’t seen Felicity in weeks.

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but she  _was_  avoiding him.

They hadn’t had any alone time since the night she fixed his phone. An almost perfect night, in his opinion. She fiddled with his phone while he channel surfed, finally settling on one of those sci-fi shows she loved so much. Felicity was unabashedly nerdy, and he kind of loved that about her, that she liked what she liked without apology. The only downside to the night was that it ended with him alone in his own bed and not with her in his arms.

It was a dangerous fantasy to entertain when he was already on the verge of losing her friendship. Felicity might be attracted to him—his track record spoke for itself on that front—but she knew better than to actually want to date him. He was damaged goods in the worst way. His job protecting Dig was the only thing that made him feel worthwhile after all the terrible things he’d done, as a spoiled teenager and an obedient soldier, and he clung to it like a life preserver. He didn’t have the emotional or mental capacity to devote to her, and Felicity knew that. Every time their friends would unsubtly try to nudge them together or hint they’d make a great couple, she would get flustered and embarrassed and eventually flee the conversation, while he stood there, silently enduring her adamant assurances that they were  _just_  friends and would  _only_  ever be friends. He hadn’t taken it personally, happy that she was still willing to be his friend despite their pushy mutual friends, until recently when she started avoiding him.

He’d seen her around the White House though never for long and at their group happy hours and brunches though never with any personal interactions. Per Curtis, OSTP was even busier than normal so he understood when she would decline his invites to coffee or lunch. But then again, she made time for their friends and office lunches with the girls, leading him to think it was only him she didn’t want to be around.

The conclusion seemed inevitable, and he had tried to prepare himself for it. Of course, Felicity would realize that spending so much of her limited free time with a guy who wasn’t a candidate for  _more_  was unproductive. Especially when everyone else was encouraging her to use that free time for dating, he was bound to get knocked down a rung on the priority ladder. Oliver had just hoped the inevitable demise of their close friendship wouldn’t happen for a few more years, if ever.

“Fine, don’t tell me. But whatever it is, you should do something about it. It’s not good to let things eat at you like this.”

Tommy was right.

If their friends wouldn’t quit bugging them, he needed to convince Felicity that he wasn’t letting them plant ideas in his head. At the holiday party, he would ask her to dance and use the few minutes for a real discussion. He would tell her in uncertain terms that he was unwilling to lose their friendship over a pipe dream of a relationship. That they both knew their place in each other’s lives—as  _friends_ —because anything more was... unthinkable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theory behind the graphic is as follows:  
> 1\. Thea got fed up one afternoon and issued an office-wide memo under presidential seal; and  
> 2\. Some bored staffer, who, due to an excess of first-world problems and family pressure, is stuck with an internship at the White House instead of being at art school.


	2. Chapter 2

“Is there a defib nearby? I think Ollie needs a jumpstart,” Thea sniggered to Sara, who was doing a much better job of keeping a straight face.

Thea knew Ollie was  _gone_. Otherwise, he would have reached out to mess up her hair or whack her shoulder or something. Anything but continue to stare across the room at Felicity in her short gold dress that she absolutely had a say in picking out last weekend. Who said only women were attracted to shiny things? Eventually Felicity noticed their obvious staring, and Sara waved her over.

“What are you doing?” Oliver hissed and forced Sara’s arm down when Felicity got distracted by the CTO. He breathed a sigh of relief until she exited the conversation quickly, still working her way through the crowd towards them.

Sara smirked at his poorly concealed panic. “Just trying to help you out, Ollie. The whole ‘gazing adoringly at her inner light’ was getting obvious.”

“Go away,” he grumbled, and Thea lost it at his moodiness, smirking to herself.

“Okay, we’ll leave you and Felicity alone,” she volunteered, hooking arms with Sara to walk away.

Immediately, his panic surged again. “No, wait! I mean, you don’t have to leave,” he offered in a more measured tone. Sara rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering about observing from a safe distance.

“This is sad. This is well and truly pathetic,” she sighed before following Sara’s lead.

Behind her, she heard as Felicity finally made it over, asking where she and Sara were heading. To her surprise, Ollie didn’t stutter through a lame excuse. Instead, he asked her to dance.

Huh. Maybe big brother wasn’t completely hopeless.

 

* * *

 

John saw it before they did.

Oliver and Felicity were so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t notice Curtis casually walking by, reaching a hand up, and slapping a sprig of mistletoe onto the snowflake dangling next to them.

In a few steps, they inevitably swayed their path underneath it, and Thea pounced. Dancing nearby with Roy, she dramatically gasped and pointed above them. When they still didn’t notice, she rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, look!” Thea announced loudly in an exasperated and almost robotic tone, “Mistletoe!”

Finally realizing all the eyes on them, Oliver and Felicity sprang apart. Simultaneously, they followed Thea’s limp but still pointing finger to look up and jumped even further apart.

“Oh no! I couldn’t possibly.  _We_  shouldn’t, I mean. You’re my... like my coworker, I guess? Organizational structure here still confuses me sometimes. But I’m pretty sure making us kiss at a Chri—holiday party is against the employee handbook. Plus, I’m Jewish so I don’t believe in mistletoe. I couldn’t possibly kiss Oliver. Because of mistletoe.”

Everyone looked more than mildly skeptical of Felicity’s closing argument of  _not believing_  in mistletoe, but she nodded to herself as if that were perfectly reasonable.

Thea clearly didn’t buy it. Her expression skipped past exasperated and straight to “You gotta be effing kidding me” territory. “Kissing under the mistletoe is irreligious. The tradition started with Celtic druids or Norse mythology or something, but not Christianity. Therefore, I am not being religiously insensitive when I say,  _kiss him already!_ ”

Finally spurred into action, Oliver held out a hand to quell Thea for a moment. He touched Felicity’s arm to get her attention then immediately pulled away. “We really don’t have to. It’s just a stupid thing and...”

John decided to spare them the misery because it really was getting out of hand and inappropriate. The setup would have been cute if they’d gotten it over with, a kiss on the cheek or something, but it was officially turning into a Spectacle. Pushing through the gathered crowd until a path formed for him, he caught his wife’s eye roll from where she was spectating with Sara.

“What’s going on here, guys? Whoa, wait, is that mistletoe?” He feigned surprise and squinted at the defiled snowflake. “Who put that there? You can’t put mistletoe up at a  _staff_  party. Dinah, didn’t we give a statement on sexual harassment in the workplace recently?”

Put out, Dinah sighed, “Yes, we did, Mr. President.”

John reached up and snagged the greenery which was as flimsily attached as he thought it’d be. “Someone burn this,” he instructed, handing it to a nearby caterer. With that, people reluctantly turned away and resumed their mingling.

After an obvious “you’re welcome” look to Oliver and Felicity, he left them to deal with the emotional repercussions of that debacle. He had his own romantic life to consider. After all, Lyla still owed him a dance.

 

* * *

 

Oliver wailed on the heavy bag. So hard the other agents were giving him a wide berth. Roy walked away ten minutes into their scheduled workout. Hard headed Rene lasted only fifteen minutes longer.

Usually, boxing was his preferred method of working out his frustrations. Unfortunately, before their friendship seemingly bit the dust, he’d been training Felicity in self-defense. The self-proclaimed ‘nerdiest woman alive’ had taken pretty well to kickboxing to everyone’s surprise. So his favorite workout was now interspersed with memories of Felicity in fitted exercise gear, breathlessly smiling whenever she improved on another move.

Bittersweet now that their friendship was on its last legs.

Because their friends were assholes.

Oliver hadn’t even gotten to tell her how he felt. And by how he felt, he meant that he was perfectly happy being her friend and wasn’t going to make her uncomfortable by pushing for more despite what their invasive friends wanted so she could stop avoiding him and be his friend again. His good intentions had been shot to hell by one thoughtless prank.

He’d told them time and time again not to pressure them, but they seemed to think he was oblivious to his feelings and needed the push. Contrary to what Tommy thought, he wasn’t so emotionally constipated to not realize his feelings for Felicity. And contrary to what Thea thought, he wasn’t too much of a wuss to do anything about them. He just knew that she deserved better than a fuck up like him.

Felicity Smoak, who was, impressively, even smarter than she was pretty, immediately stood out from the sea of faces Dig met in his campaigning.

Back then, like now, Dig valued his opinion and solicited it when he considered approaching Felicity to be his science advisor. Despite his lack of scientific or technological expertise, Oliver figured she was qualified enough since her credentials were top notch, but wouldn’t the rest of the administration find her too  _distracting_ to work with? Dig gave him a strange look for that comment, and he awkwardly stuttered through an explanation that  _of course_  her appearance shouldn’t have any bearing on her qualifications until Dig, thankfully, let him off the hook. That was his first mistake in successfully concealing his interest.

His next was really a series of blunders once Felicity took a leave of absence from her job to join them on the campaign trail. To almost everyone’s surprise, she was a formidable asset during military and veteran events since she was extremely well-versed in the related technology. Apparently, her boss Palmer was some sort of wannabe soldier and involved in a number of defense contracts, while she had her own personal interests in the medical technology used to help recuperating soldiers. That she kicked ass and took names when people challenged her expertise in those areas was an understatement. According to Sara, that’s when the heart eyes started, and the teasing from her, Dig, and even Lyla kicked in.

Oliver didn’t want to be that person anymore though. The one who made snap judgments about women based on their appearance or who made them uncomfortable based on what  _he_  wanted from them. It was inappropriate for him to pursue Felicity while she was technically on the job and he was  _literally_  on the job. Especially when they were both gunning for permanent positions in the White House once Dig won. And especially when he’d be lucky just to be friends with Felicity, who, despite the untimely babbles and runaway thoughts, wanted to use all her brilliance to help people.

In an attempt to be less transparent about his interest, he pulled away from Felicity, sinking so far he resorted to a month of regrettable behavior that Thea referred to as a ‘replay of Ollie’s worst hits’. If there was a time where he could have been called “emotionally constipated,” that would have been it. Except the parade of faceless women didn’t deter Felicity from being his friend.

Despite his hot and cold behavior, she still spent time with him and got to know him, even finagling a few of Palmer Tech’s proprietary medical devices to help rehab his knee. In turn, as he learned about the social and personal obstacles she’d overcome, he grew to respect her long list of accomplishments even more. By the time Dig was sworn into office, they were so firmly entrenched in each other’s lives, it would take the jaws of life to pry them loose.

Or, as was recently proved, an incident involving mistletoe and public humiliation.

With a weary sigh, Oliver stripped off the hand wraps, ignoring the palpable relief of the other agents. He needed a hot shower and he needed to figure out a way to get his friends to back the  _fuck_  off. Because he needed Felicity in his life more than anything.

 

* * *

 

Of course Oliver gave her an out under the mistletoe. What was the man supposed to do? Kiss her in front of all their friends and coworkers to see? Talk about awkward. It might seem unbearably romantic in all the cheesy holiday movies, but she knew it would have been unbearably mortifying. Especially when considering the tiny, inconsequential fact of Oliver not being interested in her like that.

So despite what all their delusional friends were trying to make happen, Felicity knew better than to believe that night would have ended like a Hallmark Christmas movie. She really did. A. She was Jewish. B. She  _knew_  Oliver, even better than the others thought.

Before she committed to John’s campaign, she did her research first. And her idea of research was a lot more extensive than anyone else’s. Felicity  _dug_.

The deep dive started with John’s college years, because the media wasn’t above dredging up early mistakes, but those were unremarkable. So she moved into his military career, performing a little recreational hacking to at least get a sense of the real details. By the time she reached his political record, she wasn’t only impressed by his success but also moved by his ability to prioritize compassion.

With his professional career in the clear, she did a light sweep on the personal. Even presidential candidates were entitled to some privacy. His marriage looked solid and by all accounts  _real_ , despite a hiccup where the couple divorced for a few years before getting back together. There didn’t seem to be anything scandalous about it, simply an unfortunate consequence of reintegration after their military careers where they needed some time to sort themselves out.

Lyla Michaels had all the appearances of an ordinary private citizen, so ordinary Felicity wondered if she really had retired from the military, and had recently given birth to their daughter Sara. Sidenote: most adorable baby she’d ever seen, and she had no business being around babies. Sara Diggle was the namesake of one Sara Lance, a Secret Service agent assigned to their detail and, coincidentally, someone who previously served under Ms. Michaels’ command.

That coincidental personal relationship incentivized her to look into the potential cabinet and Executive Office staff. Like any other presidential candidate, John Diggle’s upper echelon was an impenetrable shield of longtime allies. Unlike other presidential candidates, the security detail also contained an uncommonly large number of friends and close acquaintances. In fact, the first night they met, John had introduced the stiff Secret Service agent shadowing him like a friend instead of a bodyguard.

Oliver Queen hadn’t shaken her hand but nodded politely before returning to subtly scanning the room. It was a small gathering—each plate expensive for its exclusivity—and she’d gone in Ray’s place since he couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave his lab. Since the few guests had been extensively vetted, it wasn’t long before she felt Oliver’s eyes settle back on her. After all, she was hard to miss with all the gesticulating and babbling. She’d gone home that night vaguely buzzing from Agent Queen’s gaze and completely oblivious to Senator Diggle’s decision to appoint her as his science advisor.

So when she was researching all the people in John Diggle’s life to see if working on,  _shudder_ , policy in his administration was worth giving up her dream job creating technology that improved people’s lives, she couldn’t help but look into Oliver Queen.

The early picture had not been pretty though the evolution was nothing to scoff at. Morally bankrupt wastrel living off his family’s wealth. Dropped out of/expelled from three colleges before barely finishing at his fourth. A drunk driving incident seemed to be his parents’ last straw because they cut him off, and in response he joined, of all things, the Army.

Oliver had been assigned to John’s unit and appeared to be shaping up from the disaster he’d been. Part of the way through his deployment, his parents were killed by, ironically, a drunk driver. He finished that tour and, instead of staying home with his orphaned, teenaged sister, left for another and yet another while John’s political career took off.

When he finally returned stateside, highly decorated with a highly classified dossier, the tabloids followed him again, eager to chart the downfall of a former playboy turned soldier. Everyone loved watching a train wreck, even at the expense of a veteran. If Oliver had regressed to previous behavior or shown any signs of PTSD, they would have made a fortune off the headlines. 

But he didn’t.

Oliver quietly took a position with the Secret Service, struggled to reconcile with the sister he had abandoned, and, for all intents and purposes, left that old life behind. He still dated gorgeous women, but ones who were actively contributing to the betterment of society, not the sale of tabloids. A police detective, a pro bono attorney, and an heiress with a philanthropic streak were all photographed before the media lost interest and moved on from his sedate life.

So really she knew better than to believe he was interested in little old her. She especially knew better after accidentally running into the remarkably attractive legislative aides and interns leaving his hotel room on the campaign trail. Nerdy IT girl with a pumped up job title wasn’t Agent Queen’s type. She was lucky to count Oliver as a good friend, like all her other friends because she learned early how to cut her losses with the bad ones, and that was enough for her.

Now to make everyone else understand that.

 

* * *

 

“Thea, you need to stop this.” Oliver had let her go on about  _minor setbacks_  and  _different tactics_  before finally feeling exhausted by all of it. “Yes, I am... attracted to Felicity, but she clearly is uncomfortable with the idea of being in a relationship. At least, with me. We’re both adults with free will and self-control. If we both wanted a relationship or a hook up, we’d have one. But we decided on being friends.”

He could sense Thea about to butt in with a flippant remark about how that was bullshit so he continued before she could. “The more you guys push and prod and do your overstepping thing, the more she retreats. And I’m losing my  _friend_  because of it.”

“Curtis says she’s really stressed at work because OSTP has taken on more of the natural disaster response. I used to be someone she talked to about that. But now she’s too worried you all will get the wrong idea and harass us if we spend any time together alone. So I don’t get to be her friend anymore. And that’s unfair to both of us.”

If he thought Felicity was avoiding him before the holiday party, that was nothing compared to the last few weeks. She wouldn’t even meet his eye when they were in the same room together. And since OSTP was helping to deal with an unseasonably early tornado in Oklahoma, they were in a lot of rooms together. It frustrated him that a disastrous prank was having such an effect on their friendship. Especially when he knew Felicity could use every person in her support system right now.

Being faced with a real life consequence of her meddling must have gotten to Thea because she paused instead of brushing his concerns off. “I—I’m sorry, Ollie. It was all just... not for  _fun_. But, you know, we mean well. I really think you two would be great together.”

 _Maybe_ , Oliver conceded in his head but that wasn’t the point. The point was a relationship required two people to share that thought, and the two people at issue didn’t. “And I get that you have good intentions, but you can’t peer pressure someone into a relationship.”

When Thea inhaled sharply, he grew concerned. “Thea? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I realized that my comeback sounded more than a little date rape-y.” She gave a self-conscious, defeated laugh until she conceded, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll stop and I’ll talk to the others.”

“Thank you,” he breathed with a tired sigh.

He must have given away more than he wanted because Thea suddenly asked, “Are  _you_ okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighed again, but from Thea’s disbelieving hum, it wasn’t good enough. “I’m fine, Thea. I promise. Today was just a long day. And tomorrow’s looking like another one in an endless line of them.”

She was quiet for a long moment before, “That’s a terribly sad way to look at life, brother.”

“It’s not like I have anything to look forward to other than seeing you and—” Oliver cut himself off, but it was too late. They both knew who else he was about to name.

 

* * *

 

Whenever there was a prolonged silence, Felicity grew fidgety. She knew that if left to their own devices for too long, her friends would revert to their favorite subject of speculation. To avoid it, she quickly grasped for a new question.

“How’s Laurel? Haven’t seen her since the holiday party and that was weeks ago.”

“Slammed at the office,” Sara provided. “I’ve never seen someone so obsessed with pot and still so high strung.”

Assistant Attorney General Laurel Lance had been tasked with the federal response to the states’ legalization of marijuana and thus, “Somehow I doubt she’s getting to smoke any of it.”

“Should have worked that into her compensation,” Sara muttered before stabbing a strawberry and settling back into silence.

Damn. Felicity fumbled for another one. “Then how about Tommy? He hasn’t been on the right coast in a while.”

“Left coast, best coast,” she retorted automatically, and Felicity rolled her eyes. She herself was from the Mountain West, but you didn’t see her bragging about it every chance she got. “You know December and January are about the only months he works.”

After the demise of Merlyn Global and the incarceration of his father for securities fraud, Tommy had drifted for a long while until he found himself all but conscripted into helping his mother’s old friend with her charity work. That he excelled at compassion and generosity surprised no one, and he eventually worked his way up to director of community relations for her company. Which meant they saw him the least over the holiday season where people were feeling the most charitable.

“Speaking of those two though, they’re going on a date next time he’s over here.”

“I take it Laurel did the asking?” she questioned with a knowing smirk. Sara rolled her eyes in a “what do you think?” type of way. Tommy and Laurel had been dancing around each other since well before she ever met them. Tommy’s issues, Laurel’s dedication to her work, and a complicated history with Oliver and even Sara kept them from crossing the line. “About time. They need to at least give it a shot.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Felicity realized Sara had been setting a trap and she fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. “Don’t you dare start, Lance.”

“Hey, you said it. Not me,” Sara defended with a sly smirk. “So you aren’t opposed to the woman making the first move. You know, that wouldn’t be the only similarity between you and Ollie and Laurel and Tommy. Playboy who hits rock bottom and finds a path to redemption meets straight-laced, career-driven woman to be his savior?”

“Tommy isn’t Oliver, and Laurel and I are not at all similar,” Felicity pointed out logically. “Besides, Tommy’s kind of... shy these days. I mean, he’s still charming and outgoing and everything, but I haven’t seen him approach a woman recently.”

Sara raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Have you seen Ollie approaching a woman recently?”

Well, no, but that wasn’t the point she was trying to make. Ever since straightening out, Tommy hadn’t been interested in propositioning women or accepting their propositions, regardless of who they were or what they did. Everyone had pre-apologized to her for Tommy’s outrageous flirting before their first meeting, but, despite his kind friendliness, he hadn’t looked twice at her in that way. He only had eyes for Laurel.

Oliver, on the other hand, had no problems dating, seriously or otherwise, after his discharge. There wasn’t a point to her making the first move because if Oliver had wanted to go out with her, he didn’t have the same hang ups about asking out random women that Tommy did. He would have made a move on his own, without all this awkward pressure from his sister and friends. That he hadn’t, that he’d been content with their friendship, proved one thing to her.

Felicity decided to bite the bullet. She’d never admitted it out loud before, but now was as good a time as any to wreck her heart. “Look, Oliver knows how to  _ask out_  women, unlike Tommy once he fixated on Laurel back when. He’s happily pursued, and been pursued by, women even after we became friends. If he had any desire to ask me out at any point, he would have. But he hasn’t, and the reason is pretty obviously because he’s not interested in me.” She felt the pressure of tears building up behind her eyes and blinked rapidly to disperse it. “I’d appreciate it if you guys would stop reminding me of that.”

“ _Felicity_.”

To her surprise, Sara didn’t sound pitying or empathetic. No, she sounded  _angry_. That was more than Felicity wanted to unpack right now. “Can we be done with this now? Get back to a conversation that passes the Bechdel test?”

Slowly, Sara’s jaw unclenched even as she shook her head in disappointment. “Yeah. We can do that.”

 

* * *

 

LM, 8:41 PM: status update ladies

TQ, 8:43 PM: o says f deserves better than him

SL, 8:44 PM: f doesnt see parallels between her and o and laurel and tommy  
SL, 8:44 PM: still thinks o isnt interested in her like that or he would have made a move  
SL, 8:45 PM: tone was way more depressing though. hard to convey over text

DD, 8:45 PM: ffs

LL, 8:45 PM: sigh

TQ, 8:46 PM: he thinks were tanking their friendship when its all he deserves/can hope for with f

DD, 8:47 PM: said it once, say it again: idiots

TQ, 8:48 PM: i promised i wouldnt interfere anymore so...

LL, 8:49 PM: tommy tried talking to o before holiday party  
LL, 8:49 PM: dont know who/how else to get through to them

LM, 8:51 PM: time to bring in the big guns  
LM, 8:52 PM: by big guns I mean yoda

SL, 8:52 PM: yessssss

 

* * *

 

It was a long day. So long that it was already the next morning. The sky was a pale gray-blue and would soon be tinged with pink. Oliver was looking forward to his relief in an hour and the prospect of a whole two days off that almost coincided with the normal weekend.

He worked long hours because he wanted to. Because he had nothing much waiting for him at home unlike the other agents with families. And because he didn’t really trust anyone else to guard Dig’s life like he would.

That didn’t mean he didn’t get tired.

“Oliver?”

He immediately directed his eyes to the man behind the desk. “Mr. President?” The responding look was one he recognized from his first tour and knew well. President Diggle wasn’t talking to Agent Queen. “Dig?” he tried again.

“In a few minutes, I’m going to get up from this desk and I’m going to go kiss my wife and my daughter good morning,” he stated even though Oliver knew his routine well by now. Unless it was a matter of national security, the president always took fifteen minutes for that simple act of domesticity. “It’s going to remind me why I spent all night trying to solve a problem no one else seems to take seriously. I do it for them. I’m fighting for a world that is safer for Lyla and that has more opportunities for Sara. I just have to see them, and all of this shit”—he gestured at the thick stack of papers in front of him—“is worth it.”

Oliver was used to trying to follow Dig’s more philosophical musings but this time he shook his head. “What are you trying to say, Dig?”

“When are you going to do something about Felicity?” John questioned bluntly, no longer content to beat around the bush. Oliver opened his mouth to issue a denial but he was cut off. “When are you going to work to have something, someone, in your life so it’s not just another day in an endless line of them? Yes, Thea tells me about the depressing shit you say. I appreciate the loyalty driving you to be by my side almost every day, but you need someone who makes the tedious days worth it, and so does Felicity.”

“She doesn’t want me.”

The statement was harsh and unrelenting, and John immediately shook his head. “And how do you know that? Did I miss Felicity saying that to you?”

“Because she shouldn’t. She deserves better than a fuck up turned soldier. You’re my best friend, Dig. I love you like a brother and I would never abandon you, okay? But this job is the only way I can atone for all the terrible shit I’ve done in life.”

Dig’s jaw clenched hard. “You made some bad decisions as a young man and you were a soldier following orders. If that’s enough to disqualify you from a happy life, then a lot of us are SOL.”

When Diggle pushed out of his chair and stood, Oliver figured that was the end of the lecture. He followed him towards the residence but nearly ran into him when Dig abruptly turned back. “I’ll also point out that your insisting on suffering like this? It’s robbing Felicity of her happiness, too. She deserves the life she  _wants_ , even if it includes you and your issues, and not the one you decide she should have. Instead she sits there, doubting whether she could ever make you happy because you’re one self-sabotaging fucker.”

 

* * *

 

Stifling a yawn, Felicity pulled through the White House gates. She knew better than to answer calls from restricted numbers late at night. Except the only phone numbers that couldn’t be read by  _her_  caller ID program usually came from stratospheric government officials. That restricted number could have been a national crisis. Instead, it was Lyla calling about the stagnant state of her love life.

No, that was too simplistic. It was her friend being worried about her well-being because her job had gone from stressful to panic-inducing in a short amount of time and she was avoiding one of her best friends because of the rest of her best friends. Damn Sara Lance for never keeping her mouth shut.

They had a long conversation about delegation of duties that somehow segued into what the hell did she think she was doing avoiding Oliver? Her answer: sparing him from having to always babysit her because everyone was too concerned with her lack of love life. Lyla’s answer: being a coward.

She resisted the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel once she pulled into a parking space. It was unfair. Of course she wanted to see and talk to Oliver. Sometimes just his confused but always sincere and interested  _mmhmm_ ’s were enough to help her puzzle through a problem. 

Felicity simply _missed_  Oliver. Trying to treat him like their other male friends hadn’t gotten her anywhere: Roy was still more Thea’s boyfriend than standalone friend; Tommy was bi-coastal and rarely seen outside group settings; and Curtis was her brother from another mother. She didn’t  _want_  to avoid him but she also didn’t want him harassed on account of her being too busy for a social life.

Lyla hadn’t bought that excuse. The first lady had, uncharacteristically for her usual no-nonsense approach to life, gone on and on about Felicity knowing her worth and not underestimating what she had to offer and deserving more than she gave herself credit for. It was almost as if Lyla had been at lunch with her and Sara. 

Once again,  _damn_  Sara Lance.

Grumbling to herself, Felicity grabbed her work bag and headed into the imposing building. She was so lost in her thoughts she nearly ran headlong into the first lady’s convoy as they left for the day. Catching her by the elbow, Lyla dismissed the group with a curt, “Give us a minute.”

The staffers went ahead, and the security detail stepped away far enough that Felicity didn’t worry about being overheard. She was just glad Sara seemed to be assigned elsewhere for the morning. “Remember what I said. You deserve to be happy. Might take a leap or two, but you’re no shrinking violet, Felicity.” 

Before she could question Lyla’s sudden desire to play Oprah, the first lady melted into her entourage with a wink. Felicity bit down the frustrated groan since Lyla’s words could only serve as a warning of some kind. Best case scenario, Sara was posted somewhere where she’d be subjected to even more unsolicited advice. Worst case scenario, Oliver was on John’s detail, and she wouldn’t be escaping him for the morning. Yet despite this entire comedy of errors, her stomach still flipped at the thought of seeing Oliver.

“Don’t go getting any ideas. You know better.”

Felicity caught the confused look from an intern passing her in the hall and sharply reprimanded herself. Mentally, this time. She already had a reputation for consistent tardiness and sprinting through the halls. She didn’t need one for talking to herself, too.

Speaking of tardiness, a quick glance at her watch told her she needed to get moving if she wanted to make it to the meeting point in time. Her butterflies could worry about seeing Oliver later. Or, based on her heart rate suddenly accelerating from simply thinking about him, the butterflies could multitask just as well as the rest of her.

 

* * *

 

Oliver nodded at Roy who took his place inside the office then muttered a good morning to Thea. He stepped into the hallway to begin his exit, and the loneliness crashed down around his ears. He’d been lying to himself that he was looking forward to an empty bed and nothing to do. The only thing he was looking forward to in the next forty-eight hours of freedom was Saturday brunch when he could see Felicity.

A familiar laugh caught his attention, and he followed it around the corner. Felicity was walking towards him, Curtis by her side and a gaggle of sharply dressed teenagers closely trailing them. Right, OSTP had sponsored a high school competition, and the finalists had their photo op with the president this morning.

For his weary being, seeing her was a welcome relief, and he sagged a little in place, the exhaustion—from work and the heavy conversation with John—bleeding out of him.

Her smile grew brighter when she spotted him before she dialed it back to the polite one she offered everyone else. That’s when it hit him. Seeing him made her happy.  _He_  made her happy.

Their self-worth issues could go fuck themselves.

He marched up to Felicity, interrupting her “Good morning, Agent Queen,” and kissed her. Hard. For a long moment before he realized Felicity was more shocked than melting into his arms.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Oliver panted, breaking away from her lips and lurching away from her. He took a second to compose himself and string together some sort of explanation. “It’s just—I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time. I’ve wanted  _you_  for a very long time.”

When Felicity didn’t react, other than blushing even harder to match her smudged lipstick, he fumbled for more. “Dig—I mean, Mr. President—was having a... Yoda morning. He said I—and you of course—deserve someone who makes the tedious days worth it. And it’s been a stupidly tedious day, and I was going back to my empty apartment, but then you were here, and once I saw you, it was all just... worth it,” he tapered off, still unsure of her expression. “I’m sorry though—”

“Oliver, please stop apologizing,” Felicity grabbed his hands for emphasis, eating up the distance he’d put between them, “You are  _absolutely_  the person who makes my tedious days worth it. I didn’t know how to tell you that without risking our friendship.”

“Oh,” he breathed a sigh of relief then reached up to cup her face again, intent on a kiss they could both participate in with full intent and awareness.

Except Felicity pulled back. It was only her gleeful smile that kept his doubts from creeping in. “We should maybe continue this after I get off work.”

His brow furrowed in confusion until he looked up. They were in the White House, a short distance from the Oval Office. Curtis, the living embodiment of shock and awe, was standing behind Felicity. The teenagers who should be nervous to meet the president were instead documenting the scene on their phones. Behind him, Thea was  _clapping_ , and he thought he heard Sara, who must have stumbled on them during her patrol, say, “Told ya. All heart, zero awareness.”

“Aw, crap,” he murmured and Felicity, apparently already resigned to the attention, rubbed his arms soothingly.

Any attempt either of them could have made at salvaging the situation was cut short by the president rushing into the hallway, Roy on his heels. There was a tense moment where everyone stood in shock as he took in the scene. Finally, the president raised his arms in victory, keeping them up as he wordlessly walked back to his office.

“Double crap,” Felicity muttered, “I think he won the pool.”

 

* * *

 

TQ, 9:10 AM: curtis give me back caps lock  
TQ, 9:11 AM: dont you dare tell me this is an illegitimate use

CH, 9:12 AM: reinstituting caps lock  
CH, 9:12 AM: IT WAS EPIC

TQ, 9:13 AM: OH MY FUCKING GOD THEY KISSED  
TQ, 9:14 AM: IN FRONT OF CURTIS AND A BUNCH OF HIGH SCHOOLERS  
TQ, 9:15 AM: I HEARD A WOOHOO AND CAME OUT TO FIND THE BEST THING EVER  
TQ, 9:17 AM: OLLIE WAS KISSING THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF FELICITY AND SAID SHE WAS THE SUN AND STARS AND MOON AND MADE LIFE WORTH LIVING  
TQ, 9:17 AM: SARA WAS THERE TOO

CH, 9:17 AM: the woohoo was me. that was my woohoo

TQ, 9:18 AM: AND ROY  
TQ, 9:18 AM: AND THE PRESIDENT  
TQ, 9:18 AM: WHO DID A VICTORY DANCE

SL, 9:19 AM: the sad part is shes barely exaggerating any of this

CR, 9:19 AM: WHICH HALLWAY?  
CR, 9:20 AM: im pulling security footage

SL, 9:20 AM: left and right out of the oval

CR, 9:20 AM: 10-4

CH, 9:22 AM: if they dont post it im hacking those teenagers phones

LM, 9:22 AM: i approve of this abuse of govt resources

TM, 9:23 AM: where was your phone curtis? i need visual proof NOW

CH, 9:24 AM: I WAS IN SHOCK OKAY  
CH, 9:26 AM: youre lucky im not in the hospital from a fucking heart attack  
CH, 9:27 AM: brb have to be in this photo op  
CH, 9:30 AM: delayed bc f has to fix her lipstick bc OLIVER KISSED HER

LM, 9:32 AM: dont get me wrong. im ecstatic. but i feel obligated to tell you all to get back to work

TQ, 9:33 AM: DAMN IT FINE

TM, 9:33 AM: hah suckers

LM, 9:35 AM: cisco i mean after you pull the footage

 

* * *

 

“You know you’re going to have to reassign Oliver, right?” Lyla asked as they settled into bed.

Johnny turned to her with a panicked look. “What? Why?”

“He’s compromised,” she answered simply, rolling her eyes a little at his incredulous expression. “Now that they’re officially together, Oliver is always going to reach for Felicity first. I know he loves us and would protect you with his life, but he’s not going to be able to help himself. It won’t be voluntary, it won’t be conscious, and it won’t be purposeful. If it comes down to it, his instincts will take him to Felicity before he even realizes it.”

Lyla looked on fondly as he tried to string together a denial about higher thought and willpower and expertise. “Hey, remember that shooting during your campaign?” His expression fell into distress and a little annoyance that she was even bringing it up because that was one of the worst days of their lives and they used to live in active war zones.

Johnny’s events always drew large crowds, and a, to be blunt, domestic terrorist tried to take advantage. The shooter discharged only a few rounds before being subdued by Secret Service, but it was enough to cause a panic. She was seven months pregnant at the time and still her first instinct was to protect Johnny, just like his was to protect her.

“I distinctly remember Sara getting shot because we were idiots who tackled each other to the ground instead of letting Secret Service do their jobs.”

It was different in Afghanistan when they were both soldiers. There, they trusted each other to take care of themselves. But in the political arena, they were always literally, and often figuratively, unarmed. In any other circumstance, Lyla would have pulled her own weapon and taken aim at the shooter. Since that hadn’t been an option, she needed to make sure her husband was safe.

Lyla couldn’t imagine making the same decision now that she’d met their then-unborn baby. If, God forbid, she was ever in the same situation, she’d haul her pregnant ass out of there so fast she’d leave a dust cloud behind. (But that wasn’t going to happen until after Johnny finished his presidency, if ever, because there’s no way she’s campaigning while pregnant  _again_  or doing this gig with two kids.) Her point was that despite her training and experience and despite having another loved one to protect, her irrepressible instinct was to go to the man she loved. And Oliver’s would be to go to the woman he loved.

While she was over-the-moon happy for her friends, national security had different priorities.

With a grudging sigh, he conceded the point. “I’ll talk to Wilson about moving him around. Maybe paying more attention to the schedule with OSTP.”

Lyla rolled her eyes only a little because it was almost cute how codependent those two were. Syncing schedules to avoid the three of them all in the same room was the best she could hope for. Oliver wouldn’t really ever trust the other agents with the president’s life 24/7, and Johnny wouldn’t really ever trust the other agents like he did Oliver.

They were ridiculous, but adorable, and she couldn’t wait till she had Felicity to truly commiserate with.

 

* * *

 

Felicity picked her way through Oliver’s apartment. The floor was littered with mostly her clothes since, after confirming it was her at the door, Oliver answered in a t-shirt and boxer briefs. Presumptuous maybe but she wasn’t going to complain about it now.

Glass of water in hand, she made her way back to his bedroom. She’d always admired the simple decor and tidiness of his apartment, a contrast to the controlled chaos of her own, but it was different seeing it in the early morning light. Better, somehow. And there was the reason for  _better_ : naked Oliver Queen lounging in his messy bed.

They  _messed up_ his bed. His bed with the perpetually neat hospital corners was messed up. And this morning, he didn’t get up to make it but let it stay messed— Clearly, the thought made her a little giddy.

“Hey, come back,” he implored, all gravelly voiced. The arm he flung out in invitation was too good to pass up so she set the water down on his nightstand, using the coaster, of course. Shedding the white dress shirt she’d taken from his dry cleaning hamper, Felicity climbed back in, naked and unashamed. Last night, Oliver had taken great pains to dismantle her doubts about his attraction to her, and she wasn’t about to waste his hard work.

She did her best to do the same for him. They always assumed Oliver had his share of battle scars since he never took his shirt off on their rare pool days. (Most of them lived in older buildings without the amenity and were coworkers so swimsuits were generally avoided.) But she didn’t realize the full extent of the trauma. Scars from shrapnel, bullets, and what she suspected was actual  _torture_  littered his upper body and legs. Only his beautiful face somehow escaped unscathed. With some trepidation, Oliver let her look and touch her fill, and Felicity tried to literally kiss it all better.

She wasn’t insane enough to think it worked but she hoped the careful attention at least conveyed her point. The scars didn’t detract from his beauty in her opinion. They were a potent reminder of how easily she could have gone through life without ever knowing Oliver Queen. And that was an unacceptable reality.

“This is better than I imagined,” she admitted. With her body half-sprawled on his and her face buried against his throat, Felicity felt his responding hum of agreement. “Did you ever? Imagine this, I mean?” Okay, so he hadn’t managed to dispel  _all_  her doubts in one night.

“Of course,” he answered readily, and she felt the pressure of a kiss to the crown of her head, “I just never wanted to saddle you with someone like me. You deserve better than me.”

Felicity recoiled so quickly she nearly brained herself on Oliver’s chin. That would have been a story their friends would never let die if they heard about it. Her tone was disbelieving and offended, but on his behalf. “And who, exactly, would you consider better?”

Oliver pulled a face, obviously not wanting to pursue this line of questioning. “I don’t know. Someone like Palmer. Smart, rich, not fucked up in the head.”

With an eye roll, she groused, “Well, Ray and I broke up so there’s that theory disproved.”

“I said someone  _like_ Palmer. Not actually Palmer,” Oliver’s put-out-ness was hard to miss, but she wasn’t expecting him to ask, “You mean you guys dated?

“Yeah,” Felicity narrowed her eyes at his confusion and poked his side then copped a feel of his abs. Was that not what she was supposed to be doing right now? “What did you think I meant when I said Silicon Valley had it out for me?”

He deliberated for a moment, taking the question seriously. They were only a little sidetracked when she had to reward him with a kiss, more like kisses, for that consideration. Once he caught his breath, he remembered he owed her an answer to her question. “That you were a woman, a gorgeous one to boot, and they couldn’t handle any woman, let alone a gorgeous one, being smarter and better than them.”

“Yes, that,” Felicity hand-waved because the inherent misogyny in her field was a monster of an issue to tackle at another time and she could feel her face flaming from Oliver’s casual compliments. “But also because I broke golden boy Ray’s heart. Never mind that he broke up with me.”

“Wait.  _What_?”

She hand-waved that, too. “He wasn’t over his fiancée who died in a tragic accident. Understandable, really, and I wasn’t exactly torn up about it. We did work together for another year after that.”

“I ju— I’m still—  _He_ broke up with  _you_. Are you sure?”

Oliver’s ongoing confusion and disbelief made her smile, but they had more important things to discuss. Thea had alluded to his self-worth issues on occasion, but she never thought it would apply to  _her_. After all, she spent months watching Oliver reel in any woman who caught his interest. “As fascinating as your obliviousness is and as flattering as your incredulity is, can we get back to topic at hand? What do you mean I deserve someone better?” 

“I mean all of  _this_ ,” Oliver gestured to his chest, and she was distracted for a moment before realizing that he meant his scars, “My insides are even more messed up than my outside. You should be with someone who isn’t a terrible person. You deserve someone  _good_.”

“Oliver, you are the exact opposite of a terrible person. You’ve done some regrettable things. Definitely had some regrettable hairstyles. Who knew a buzz cut could be an improvement?” Felicity ignored his offended grumbling. “My point is, we’ve all done things we wish we could take back. But the important thing is that we keep moving forward. And for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always tried and you’ve always kept going. Sometimes you fall short but you’ve never given up and you’ve always learned from your mistakes. So, yeah, in my book, you  _are_ a good person.”

“You’re a war hero,” she knew he’d bristle at that description so she moved on quickly, “You’re an amazing friend, an even more impressive brother. Seriously, do you know how many twenty-somethings want to hang out with their big brother in their free time? Thea adores you, in spite of some mistakes, and that’s because you went above and beyond to make it up to her. The  _president_  trusts you so much you’re the first daughter’s godfather, for fuck’s sake. You put your life on the line every day in service of this country. I’m even starting to think you  _like_  listening to me babble.”

Oliver interrupted her with a gentle, “Actually, I kind of love it,” and a kiss that took her minutes to regain her scattered train of thought.

“Not to mention, you kiss like that and look like this. You are unbelievably supportive whenever I doubt myself. You watch some seriously weird TV shows that I’m pretty sure you don’t follow at all because I like them. You’re damn unreal is what you are, and I refuse to hear another bad word about you. Do you understand me? You’re the best person I know. The only person I’ve wanted for a very long time.”

His smile was blinding, and he immediately leaned up to press those smiling lips against hers. The contact was probably the only reason he registered her quiet comment of, “A better person than  _I_  deserve.”

It was Oliver’s turn to pull back, an incredulous and serious look on his face. “Now what the hell are  _you_ talking about?” 

 

* * *

 

Oliver didn’t understand how Felicity insisted on seeing the best in him, but he wasn’t going to run from it anymore. No, he’d fight like hell to live up to her expectations and hope that he never fell short enough to disappoint her. Even after just last night, he didn’t think he’d survive it if he managed to drive her away.

Yet, somehow, her own self-deprecation felt like a sucker punch.

He loved that Felicity was so unabashedly smart and nerdy and feminine. She wore all those contrasting descriptions with such pride and ownership that he couldn’t imagine her doubting seriously herself. Especially not when it came to someone like him.

“You’re remarkable,” he told her, as softly and as sincerely as he could manage.

Her responding, “Thank you for remarking on it,” was as soft and as sincere, but he sensed there was more.

“It’s just— I’m the nerd, right? And nerds don’t get the jocks. I mean, they do in cheesy Disney Channel movies, but not in real life.” Her hands gestured between them as if to indicate that they were  _unreal_ , and he grabbed them as if stopping that action would stop her doubts. “And I’ve seen the women you’ve dated or hooked up with once you, you know,  _matured_. It’s not like they were all empty-headed bobble heads coasting by on their looks. Not that there’d be anything wrong with that. Work with what you got, you know? But they were smart, driven women who also happened to be gorgeous.”

Oliver’s eyes grew wider as her babble went on. Did she somehow see herself as lesser than his exes or the ill-advised hook ups he’d participated in to unsuccessfully stay away from her? Felicity registered his wanting to object so she quietly ended on, “If that’s the type of woman you fooled around with, I couldn’t hope to measure up to the type of woman you really cared about.”

“You’re right. You aren’t that type of woman,” he anticipated Felicity trying to pull away and clutched her tighter against his chest so he could finish, “You  _are_  that woman.”

“When I first got to know you, I thought I couldn’t—shouldn’t—be in a relationship with someone I could really care about. So I tried like hell to stay away from you by giving you a bad impression of me, but you didn’t judge me and you still were my friend. It didn’t take me long after to realize that I didn’t want to be in a relationship  _unless_  it was with you, someone I really cared about.”

“You’re smart and driven and you happen to be gorgeous, too. You’re also kind and compassionate and funny. Most importantly, you are all those things in a way that resonates with me. If I was standoffish and detached at first, it’s because I was—am—in awe of you and didn’t know how to see you like a real person. And then once I did, I thought all you wanted from me was friendship because I obviously wasn’t up to  _your_  standards.”

Felicity laughed a little tearily, and he hoped they were happy tears. Oliver didn’t think he’d ever shared so many of his thoughts and feelings at once but he was tired of wasting time and having their wires crossed. Felicity must have shared his line of thinking, because she didn’t bother arguing with his compliments, even as she blushed brightly.

“You didn’t shake my hand the night we met so I thought... I don’t know. It stuck with me. I’d hoped it was protocol or something but in case it wasn’t, I was determined to be your friend once I joined the campaign. Prove whatever your first impression was about me wrong.”

“I didn’t want to,” Oliver admitted quietly. Of course she would remember that unbearably awkward moment when he’d left her hand to hang until Dig cleared his throat and steered the conversation away. “You were so bright and enthusiastic. I didn’t know how to... Even that first night, I thought getting too close to you might change me forever. So I didn’t want to shake your hand but I couldn’t even stop looking at you. After, Dig asked me about it and laughed when I said I thought you might be a threat. He must have known I had no idea what we would become to each other.”

Felicity marveled at him. Suddenly, he thought he might know what Thea meant when she said heart eyes. “So many misunderstandings.” 

In his opinion, there was only one way to clear up those misunderstandings. With a happy grin, he leaned up to kiss her, effectively declaring the conversation over. When they finally exhausted each other, Oliver banded his arms around Felicity’s back, almost crushing her against him.

“Do you understand me now?” 

The question was mostly rhetorical, but Felicity still enthusiastically nodded her agreement.

 

* * *

 

Dinah looked into the press room, a palpable buzz in the air as some of them shifted in their seats. Finally, she set down her notes and sighed wearily. “You don’t care at all about the energy grid upgrade right now, do you?”

“You know us better than that, Drake. We all check Instagram. Give us something.”

Shaking her head, she sent a withering look at the reporter. “The Executive Office does not comment on the personal lives of its staff.” The sharp statement bled the energy out of the room as the press resigned themselves to a lack of entertaining gossip this morning, and she nodded satisfactorily.

With a sly smile, Dinah continued, “As I was saying, I’ve finally got more than enough to announce that construction on the energy grid upgrade commenced yesterday. Naturally, the president has been an ardent supporter of this project since the early days of his campaign and is pleased that it is finally up and running.”


	3. Bird’s Eye View: Spartan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ostensibly Yoda!Diggle but really BAMF!Lyla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adventure continues! Something about sleeping on planes really brings this verse to mind.
> 
> (The story is complete at Chapter 2. This chapter and any following are outtakes, vignettes, alternate POVs, drabbles, flashbacks, etc. as inspiration refuses to be ignored.)

“It’s not  _fair_.”

To his credit, Dig only flushed a little when Lyla pointedly glanced at their two-and-change-year-old crawling around on the ground. Sara was starting to string together phrases and short sentences and sounded remarkably like her father just did when she didn’t get her way. Thankfully, Sara didn’t pick up on his distress and continued her playtime undisturbed.

“The president of the United States can’t be seen with a burner phone,” Lyla reminded him with all the calm rationale he was currently lacking.

Feeling childish, he crossed his arms over his chest to distract her then retorted, “Oh, but the first lady can?”

She shot him a disbelieving look. “At least I have a purse to hide it in. About the only thing the damn thing’s good for.”

Dig did his best to hide his amused smile. Since she was used to shoving her phone and ID into whatever pocket, or, to be frank, bra cup, available, Lyla was still not a fan of all the decorum and traditions the advisors tried to impose on her. He’s pretty sure it’s why she cut her hair even shorter a few weeks after his swearing in, even as she justified it with Sara’s newfound grabbiness. She’s letting it grow out again now, but he’s positive she’d cut it again as a “fuck you” to the next person who tried to dictate her hairstyle. 

Good thing he fell in love with her in the middle of a sandstorm, scarf wrapped around her head and covering her mouth and eyes blazing as she gave him hell for even thinking about disobeying her orders.

Shaking himself back on track, Dig continued his complaining. “But I want to talk to them, too. I miss our friends.”

“You can talk to Oliver and Sara. Or Roy.” Her suggestion was followed with an unsympathetic shrug.

Dig responded with an arched eyebrow. “Repeat that back and tell me if that’s supposed to be a consolation prize. I’d have better luck talking to the walls.”

Even as she sympathetically pat his bicep, Lyla didn’t drop the steely expression. “We all make sacrifices for your presidency, Johnny. Guess you’re going to have to get used to talking to the walls.”

 

* * *

 

Dig hadn’t given it a second thought before. Why would he? Oliver always traveled with him on his international trips. But the situation was different this time.

Thea had been running down his itinerary for the G20 summit when she made a strange noise. She waved it off as spotting a typo, and he didn’t have a reason to question her further. Except now he’s spotted the date and that combined with a comment from Lyla this morning about kicking in for a gift Curtis and Cisco were working to acquire meant the penny finally dropped.

Oliver would be out of the country for Felicity’s birthday.

Dig could always request a different agent. Roy was so eager for advancement he’d been putting up with Oliver’s “mentoring”. The assignment would be a good show of support to the junior agent that his work was paying off. Plus, even though it was almost sad to say, Roy’s and Thea’s relationship was a lot more stable than Oliver’s and Felicity’s. 

To be fair, he didn’t think the latter relationship was _unstable_. He just didn’t know how Felicity would react to Oliver missing her first birthday of their relationship. In the few years since they’d become close, Felicity never seemed to be the overly sentimental type. Even for her birthday, she always appreciated any effort, whether it was a hasty “Happy birthday!” in the halls as they tried to put out a metaphorical fire or a fancy dinner with all her friends. He knew it was a byproduct of her upbringing when she and her mom couldn’t afford much more than the sentiment. (That’s right. Felicity Megan Smoak wasn’t the only one who could _research_.)

But people had different expectations of their friends than of their significant others. He and Lyla had been apart for more than a few birthdays and anniversaries, but they always made a special effort to celebrate the occasion whenever possible. John wasn’t sure if that’d be enough for a still-new relationship that had taken years to get off the ground.

And that was officially too much thought to be putting into the relationship of his security detail and science advisor, even if they were his best friends. They’d already accommodated the relationship by scheduling Oliver’s shifts around Felicity’s meetings. Which was one thing in his administration that had gone more smoothly than anticipated.

Director Wilson had been less ornery about the rescheduling than feared. Then again, he’d also taken a shine to Felicity after she rigged up something for him to keep an eye on his kids in Australia. Based on his poorly hidden interest in Surgeon General Shado Gulong, the gruff man had a soft spot for smart, compassionate women with their own soft spot for maladjusted military types.

Really, when Dig was putting this administration together, he didn't think it’d turn out so _incestuous_.

 

* * *

 

If he hadn’t seen it for himself, John would have never believed it. Oliver was the walking, _not_ talking, definition of the expression “Why the long face?” And because they were on a rare break with no one else around while Oliver guarded his bathroom break, he voiced that very question.

Oliver’s answer was an aborted sigh, and John rolled his eyes. He would have left him for Lyla to interrogate but god knew he was the one comfortable with _feelings_ and _feeling_ things and talking about _feelings._ Yes, he knew everyone called him Yoda behind his back.

“Oliver, we have about two minutes to sort you out before the meeting starts so what is it? Use your words this time.”

Oliver shot him an unamused look then acquiesced, “It’s Felicity’s birthday.”

“I’m aware,” John responded succinctly. He deliberately hadn’t requested another agent, although Roy was with them in place of an agent who’d started paternity leave. Felicity and Oliver were adults, and their relationship needed to withstand adult things like work responsibilities. “I’m sure she understands why you’re not there.”

“She does. It’s not that.”

Good. Felicity was the last person to judge someone for occasionally putting work first. Especially given how much she respected and admired Oliver’s job and their friendship.

“It’s just— I talked to her last night over there, and she wasn’t feeling well. Then Curtis texted that she hasn’t shown up at the office today.”

“Maybe she’s running late,” Dig offered. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. Off Oliver’s disbelieving look, he reconsidered. It was close to 11 a.m. back home so, no, probably not just running late. “No one can check on her?”

Oliver shook his head in frustration. “Everyone’s here or working. I don’t want to worry Donna, and she can’t do anything from Vegas anyway. Curtis says Paul’s going over after his shift but that’s still three hours away and he has to get there from Johns Hopkins.”

“Oliver, I’m sure she’s just sleeping or resting,” but his Spidey senses weren’t feeling great about this either, “Don’t do anything crazy like ask Cisco to hack her phone.”

When Oliver perked up a little, he rolled his eyes again. “Cisco can’t even hack Felicity’s phone.” The reminder dimmed Oliver’s eagerness.

Roy knocked on the door twice, and Dig double checked his appearance in the mirror. Stupid tie. He gave Oliver a pained smile. “Time’s up.”

 

* * *

 

The two seconds of eye contact he had with Lyla in the hallway was enough to convey that there was an issue. By the time he finished his twenty minute meeting with the German prime minister, Lyla had launched a recon mission. Because of course she had.

Dr. Caitlin Snow, an old acquaintance from Felicity’s MIT competition days and a real friend from Palmer Tech’s collaborations with STARLabs, was in DC to lecture at her alma mater. Her university happened to be Johns Hopkins where Paul worked so she would also be about an hour away from Felicity’s Georgetown apartment. Except Caitlin had lunch plans with her old mentor, who conveniently was now an esteemed professor at, yep, Georgetown. As someone who was perpetually running early, she had plenty of time to check on Felicity before lunch once informed of the situation. And since she’d stayed with Felicity not too long ago, she still knew how to gain access to the building. More specifically, Caitlin knew how long and loud to pound on the door before zombified Felicity would emerge. 

How _Lyla_ knew all that from the other side of the Atlantic would forever remain a mystery.

Caitlin was relieved to report that, aside from a sudden onset flu that knocked her out cold, Felicity was unharmed. The good doctor gave her a once over and ran out for some Tamiflu and Gatorade with enough time to make her lunch. Before the overly concerned boyfriend could even make the suggestion, Lyla already had matzo ball soup from Felicity’s favorite deli delivered to the patient in Oliver's name.

Days like these, Dig really wondered who, between him and Lyla, would be more effective at running the nation.

 

* * *

 

“Skyhawk and Spitfire approaching,” Roy reported, cutting into Dig’s focus. 

He pulled his tired eyes from the screen in front of him and glanced at the clock. It was dinnertime, and almost a week ago, Lyla had cleared his calendar for a few hours tonight for a family dinner. Thankfully, those weren’t a _rare_ occasion, but as with most of his life lately, he didn’t get to enjoy those simple pleasures as often as he used to. Sometimes, it required a force of nature—Lyla—to bring the mountain to Mohammed.

He hadn’t forgotten about tonight. He just thought he’d be further along by dinnertime. Then again, that feeling of never being able to do enough was pretty par the course for this job.

Moments later, the door swung open, and he heard the unmistakeable sound of Sara’s laughter and babbling. Ever since she had figured out the whole talking thing, they barely had a moment of silence. Yeah, Spitfire as her codename was _always_ going to be appropriate.

Lyla entered with Sara safely ensconced in her arms only to plop the toddler onto the plush rug. Sara immediately rushed forward, crashing into her father’s legs as he rounded his desk to pick her up. Ignoring her protestations to be set down, Dig cuddled her close until she treated him to a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes?” he breathed without an ounce of teasing. Sara finally managed to convince him that she really meant “ _Down!_ ” so he set her on her bottom, and Lyla handed her a picture book from her bag. He exchanged Sara in his arms for Lyla and leaned heavily into her always steady embrace.

“Long day?” Dig grunted his agreement and he felt her responding chuckle. “Tell me about it. Sometimes I wish this one was still on the tit just so I could kick everyone out for thirty minutes.”

Her turn of phrase had him chuckling then laughing in that overly tired way. He pulled out of her embrace to lean against the front of his desk, head hanging as he still sniggered occasionally. Eventually, he felt Lyla’s hand on his cheek, guiding him to look at her. She was smiling softly with a rare hint of sympathy.

“Come on, you. Dinner.”

He gathered up Sara and followed Lyla’s lead as easily as in their early days of combat missions. Roy, he noted, still diligently followed them to the residence even though his relief had appeared as they left the Oval Office. There was already chatter coming from their kitchen when they approached, and he shot Lyla a confused look. She only smiled again and pulled him though the swinging door.

No one paid them any attention at their entrance.

Thea, Sara, and Nyssa were chatting in a corner, Andy with AJ asleep on his shoulder, Carly, Dinah, and Laurel in another. Tommy was apparently trying to convince Walter and Quentin, who looked skeptical at best, to smoke cigars with him later. Finally, his eyes swung to Oliver, wooden spoon in hand, at the stove. Felicity was perched on the counter next to him even though everyone, herself included, knew better than to let her participate in the cooking.

“Here they are!” Roy called out, clapping him on the shoulder before going over to join Thea.

Everyone offered enthusiastic greetings before resuming their activities. As if the president and the first lady hadn’t just walked into the room. Sara, though, swooped by to steal baby Sara from his arms, giving him a conspiratory wink in the process. Oh boy, those two were going to be trouble together in a few years.

Still shocked and perplexed, his gaze was drawn again to Oliver and Felicity. He had grabbed a spoon to offer her a taste of whatever he had bubbling on the stove, and she gave him a quick kiss of approval. The rest of them _ooh_ ’ed good naturedly, and a blushing Felicity flipped them the bird.

Huh. He didn’t think he’d see that—the prize idiots being an actual couple—firsthand until his presidency was over. Not when the lines of professionalism and decorum were drawn so starkly between them these days. Really, between him and _all_ of them. Not that he wasn’t happy to see everyone outside of the office, so to speak since they were still in the White House, but—

“What is this?” he questioned Lyla, who snuck away during his stupor to grab them both drinks.

Teasingly, she rolled her eyes at him. “ _Family_ dinner, Johnny,” Lyla answered as if it were the simplest and most obvious thing in the world.

“I love you,” he said a bit helplessly. Dig gestured broadly with his hands trying to convey the magnitude of what this meant to him. The strings she must have pulled, the extra security personnel she must have called in, the people she must have told to go fuck themselves and their protocol. Though Lyla probably enjoyed that last part. “You’re too good to me.”

“I love you, too,” Lyla responded sincerely, leaning up into his kiss. “And I had to do something. You were starting to talk to the walls.”

 


	4. Bird’s Eye View: Agent Harper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROYYYYYYYYYY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These vignettes may occasionally backtrack into the original story but do move forward in chronological order, if that makes sense.

Maybe the juvenile delinquent he’d been as a teenager wouldn’t have appreciated it, but he was _Agent_ Roy Harper.

That was pretty fucking cool. 

From a truly shitastic childhood in the ghetto of a rundown, nearly dying, manufacturing city to a dedicated public servant. He lived in an objectively nice apartment in Washington DC without any roommates—human _or_ rodent. He had a _hot_ girlfriend who never hesitated to bust his balls but he loved her so that was fine. He _legally_ carried a gun.

His life was pretty kick ass. There were community outreach directors who drooled over redemption stories like his. Probably, he guessed.

If only his job didn’t also include playing Cupid for his immediate supervisor, AKA his girlfriend’s older brother, and his would-be girlfriend, AKA a well-respected senior White House official.

Thea sent him a commiserating look as Oliver all but tripped into the hallway following Felicity. The man had been trying to get her attention for weeks now, but ever since the holiday party, she’d been avoiding him like Internet Explorer, or some other weird tech analogy Felicity would understand. Hmm, wonder why Blondie was feeling awkward around His Royal Broodiness.

He responded to Thea with an accusatory glare—a reminder of how she created this monster with one terribly placed sprig of mistletoe—that she winced away from. Consequences were a pretty recent development for his former heiress of a girlfriend. Without moving from his post, he unintentionally eavesdropped on the awkward and desperate conversation just in the hallway.

“Do you want to go to lunch? Or coffee, if you don’t have time for lunch?”

“Like a date? I mean, not a date. Obviously. Because you and me? That’s just... You would never date someone like me. For... reasons. But like a lunch da—appointment? Together? I just—can’t. Today. Or tomorrow. Or this week really. Maybe I’ll just let you know when I’m free. Which will be like the fifth of never with the way this year’s started off. Not that you’re not busy, too. I have to go now. Bye.”

Roy wasn’t entirely sure who was the more pathetic of the two.

 

* * *

 

SL, 1:27 PM: its so much worse. how is it so much worse???

CR, 1:28 PM: i blame thea

RH, 1:30 PM: seconded

TQ, 1:31 PM: brain trust, i am your entire sex life. watch your mouth

LL, 1:32 PM: youre still 12 to me. you dont have a sex life

SL, 1:33 PM: weird and ew

LM, 1:33 PM: moving on people

CH, 1:34 PM: THANK YOU

TQ, 1:37 PM: hey why do you get caps lock?

CH, 1:38 PM: because i am your overlord

DD, 1:40 PM: someones been spending too much time with f

CH, 1:41 PM: yes actually  
CH, 1:41 PM: because she doesnt leave the office. like ever  
CH, 1:42 PM: love the girl but I am tired of her mopey face

RH, 1:45 PM: and im tired of slapping bowls of water

DD, 1:46 PM: is that a euphemism or...

RH, 1:47 PM: gross no  
RH, 1:48 PM: o is literally making me slap bowls of water in training  
RH, 1:48 PM: its the worst

SL, 1:51 PM: but makes for quality entertainment  
SL, 1:51 PM: also its called a mop harper

RH, 1:53 PM: or we can get o laid and i can stop slapping bowls of water

TM, 1:56 PM: yes do that  
TM, 1:57 PM: he is destroying me with these runs. i cant take much more

LL, 1:59 PM: were working on it

CH, 2:00 PM: and who is this we?

LM, 2:01 PM: the actual brain trust  
LM, 2:01 PM: sidebar ladies

 

* * *

 

“What’s that face for?” he questioned Thea once she set her phone down.

Ever since her weekly catch-up call with Oliver, she’d been kind of bummed. For two people who spent most of their work week in the same twenty-foot radius, they really didn’t have the chance to talk much. Whatever the siblings did talk about this time had the effect of a strong downer.

The excited, and maybe almost conniving smile, she wore now was an abrupt departure. And kind of terrifying, to be honest.

“Nothing,” she chimed angelically, and he scoffed.

“Yeah, right. You’re being weird.” Her smile cracked a little, and she bit on her bottom lip like she couldn’t contain herself. “Look, if this is about Oliver and Felicity, maybe you should just cool off for a while. He’s been pretty pissed ever since the Mistletoe Incident,” yes, that totally deserved capital letters,” and I don’t know.”

Thea tilted her head and looked at him curiously. “You don’t know what?”

“They’re adults, right? With their lives all together and shit? I know you know him better than I do, but you think if they wanted to date, then someone would have just asked the other person out by now. Kind of like how normal people do? Like we did.”

Sauntering over, because his girlfriend didn’t do anything as pedestrian as simply _walking_ , she took a seat in his lap. “You’re cute, if you think us dating was as simple as you just deciding to ask me out.” His brow furrowed but before he could question her further— “Anyway, we don’t have to worry about it anymore because John is going to talk to Ollie.”

“Oh, thank god,” was the extent of his response before his brain stopped giving a fuck about Thea’s older brother.

 

* * *

 

Somehow—some- _fucking_ -how—things did not get better for him once the idiots got together.

“You can’t go in there,” Roy monotonously warned an approaching staffer. When the man reached for the handle anyway, he slid in front of the door and leveled him with a glare so hard, the other man turned tail and ran away. Literally, _ran_. Roy smirked to himself a little. Well, that was kind of cool.

“Are you seriously playing doorman while Oliver and Felicity hook up in a conference room? On your break?”

He turned to find Sara, arms crossed but with a sly grin on her face. Roy really didn’t know who was about to cop more teasing for this. Him for being relegated to playing doorstop, or them for hooking up in a conference room at work. With a sigh, he leaned against the closed door.

“They’re not supposed to be hooking up. They’re supposed to be decorating for Curtis’ birthday party,” he explained, obviously futilely. “Then Thea walked in there. She screeched something about being scarred for life and is making me stand here.”

Sara patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Harper, you deserve a promotion.”

“Tell me about it,” he scoffed. “At least these conference rooms are soundproofed.”

 

* * *

 

“You two suck.”

When they finally emerged, he was leaning against the wall opposite the conference room door, feet and arms crossed in front of him. Oliver’s tie was crooked, and Felicity’s ponytail of curls was a little _curlier_ than usual. Roy raised a knowing eyebrow as they both turned red.

“Technically, I was the only one—”

Felicity clapped her own hand over her own mouth while Oliver looked up at the ceiling in a silent prayer. The guffaw jumped out of his mouth before Roy could stop it, and Oliver lowered his eyes to glare at him. Oh, come _on_.

“Self-burn. Those are rare,” he commented, and Oliver took a menacing step towards him. Before either could ask the question, Roy answered, “Thea walked in there. A couple randos tried to, too, but I stopped them. So you’re buying me lunch, and you’re welcome.” With that, he pointed them towards the cafeteria and started walking.

“This never happened, Harper!”

“Or you’ll technologically destroy me,” he finished the unspoken threat almost lazily, yelling back over his shoulder at Felicity. “One of these days, I’m not going to be around to cover for your asses. Then what’ll you do?”

The scuff of footsteps on carpet let him know that Felicity was catching up to him. She hooked her arm through his and bumped his hip. “Mercilessly technologically destroy the person who catches us?” she offered.

“Oh, well, as long as there’s a plan.” He rolled his eyes at how ridiculously obvious they were. At this rate, they’d be caught before the end of the week.

“No, the _plan_ is for you to never leave us, dork,” Felicity responded, matter-of-fact. Roy just knew that Oliver behind them was huffing one of his quiet chuckles, even if he couldn’t hear or see him.

“Nerd,” he shot back without any heat to it to cover the rush of fondness he suddenly felt for the older sister he never asked for. Ducking quickly, he also just knew that he’d barely missed Oliver cuffing him in the back of the head. With a glance over his shoulder, Roy shot his mentor a victorious smirk. As Felicity started talking about their weekend plans as a distraction, Oliver tempered his response to a glower.

Yeah, okay, maybe things were a little better.

 


	5. Microscopic Field of View: Palmer Tech VP Felicity Smoak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I have an interview for a PhD position in like twelve hours, and _this_ is what I’ve been working on. Send help.

Felicity glanced around the room with an air of studied disinterest. She adopted the persona early in her career when she realized no one much cared for a babbling, eager, young, blonde woman to talk tech with. No one much cared for a stoic, young, blonde woman to talk tech with either, but at least she held onto some of her dignity this way.

Over the years, she’d made a few friends in the industry—she wasn’t as active in the Women in STEM groups as she could be but she could also stand to be a better daughter and friend—but it looked like none of them were here tonight. No, the room was full of tech bros in their tortured idea of formal wear, some had even bothered to put on a blazer (the horror!), who were eying her like she was a Tibetan pit viper, instead of a Fortune 100 VP. Not another double X chromosome in sight, never mind how this group would react to a transgender woman.

From the death glares, it was safe to say the Silicon Valley community was still painting her as the villain in her and Ray’s breakup. 

When Ray appointed her VP of R&D, tongues wagged, but they ignored the rumors because at the time they had simply been friends and coworkers. Instead of doing the smart thing and setting aside their attraction, they eventually started dating, figuring they would take the high road and rise above the gossip and slander. The community respected Ray enough to never badmouth her outright, but once they broke up, oh, the gloves were off. Suddenly, the rumors turned into an unspoken acceptance that she “earned” her title on her knees and that Ray only kept her around post-breakup to avoid a sexual harassment lawsuit. To his credit, Ray did his best to dispel the ridiculousness, but after a while, she retreated into her lab and surrounded herself with loyal coworkers, who had been difficult to find and keep. For Google’s sake, she and Ray had gotten over that speed bump faster than seemingly everyone else in the world.

Sighing into her wine glass, Felicity considered ducking out early. Everyone had taken note of her attendance so in that sense her job here was done. Palmer Tech remained a visible presence in the community and showed its support for the leading presidential candidate. The presidential candidate who was currently being lead over by the event’s organizer, an older man with the manners not to question her substituting in for Ray.

So much for ducking out early.

Felicity set down her glass and turned on the bright smile her mom had worked overtime to make sure she got the braces for. She didn’t know crap about Senator Diggle, other than he was from Washington and former military, but she wasn’t going to be rude. In fact, she bit her tongue to keep the comment about his biceps—because what politician, former military or not, was  _that_ jacked?—from slipping out.

His eyes were kind, his smile warm, and his handshake firm and unclammy. In deference to the industry’s casual dress code, the senator didn’t wear a full suit but slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Overall, he exuded a sense of relatability and trustworthiness. Even knowing that this aura was manufactured, Felicity couldn’t help but buy into it, just a little.

That feeling was enforced when Senator Diggle half-turned to the shadow behind him. Manners, even this bare minimum, were a novelty to her in this environment. Instead of letting him remain nameless, but certainly not faceless because there was no way she could forget a face that gorgeous, the senator introduced her to his bodyguard.

Well, he  _tried_  to introduce her.

As she retracted her unshaken hand, Felicity felt that familiar flush of embarrassment from realizing that Agent Oliver Queen had zero intention of shaking her hand. He had stared at it curiously for a moment then, as if remembering that he was expected to do  _something_ , had looked up to nod stiffly at her. Senator Diggle, astute man that he was, quickly intervened to inquire about the latest project her team had announced.

Their conversation lasted longer than she expected, definitely longer than she’d had with any layperson before, let alone a politician who was supposed to be working the room. When the organizer finally prodded him into moving along, Senator Diggle pointedly asked for her card and stressed that he looked forward to working with her soon. Not quite sure what he meant by that or how to respond to it, Felicity wished him luck with a sincere smile.

Compared to all the one-upping she normally was subjected to, that conversation had been a breath of fresh air. Sighing satisfactorily, she glanced around the room, noting that everyone was  _still_ staring at her. Funny, but she hadn’t noticed their staring while talking to the senator.

Because she’d been too preoccupied with Agent Queen’s unnerving gaze, her traitorous mind reminded her. Once in a while he would lift his eyes to scan the room, but every time it was mere seconds before she felt him refocus on her. His stare wasn’t salacious or disdainful but contemplative and, if she was being honest, flattering. Agent Queen’s attention made her hands fly faster and her babbles veer into more experimental tech, but Senator Diggle hadn’t seemed to mind, finding the almost sci-fi projects fascinating.

Focusing on the novelty of a politician interested in science, instead of the rumors that were bound to be spreading about her and the married presidential candidate with a pregnant wife, Felicity finally left the event, the now-familiar sensation of Agent Queen’s stare following her out the door.

 

* * *

 

The next day, her secretary asked if she wanted to take a call from Senator Diggle’s campaign. Felicity hesitated, figuring it was a standard thank you call for the donation that night, and told him to redirect it to Ray’s office since that’s whose money it had really been. A sizeable one, too, if a thank you email wouldn’t suffice. Two minutes later, her secretary interrupted again. The caller wasn’t an eager polisci undergrad but the senator’s campaign manager.

Curious, she answered the call and, even more curious, found herself speaking to a man with a cultured British accent. He introduced himself as Walter Steele and apologized for not meeting her in person last night. “John” had been gushing about her—she found both the first name and the gushing hard to imagine—but no one had been able to find her later in the night. Felicity bit her tongue to prevent the “oh, good” from slipping out.

In any case, Mr. Steele had a job offer for her. The campaign was steadily building its momentum and having her on board would certainly sharpen their competitive edge. Of course, she would have time to think about it as well as to wrap up her current position if she chose to accept.

Absolutely reeling, Felicity hung up the phone.

 

* * *

 

Over a pint of mint chip and a healthy sized glass of red, Felicity considered her options.

She knew what Ray would say. He’d be sad to see her go, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. The man was preternaturally optimistic, even when being weighed down by his fiancée’s death, and excited for every new adventure, even when it was contingent on another person being elected to the highest office in the land.

No, telling her boss wasn’t what she dreaded in this circumstance.

Her fears came from the unknown. 

At Palmer Tech, she could pour her heart and soul into a project, and if it failed, they could try again, at least until the money ran out. In any case, every experiment and every prototype was in  _her_ control. If she joined this campaign, with an opportunity for an official position post-election over  _half a year_ away, so much of the outcome relied on factors outside her grasp. She could try to influence, but ultimately couldn’t dictate, the campaign’s message, the staffers, and, most especially, the voters. If Senator Diggle’s bid for the presidency failed and she was left jobless, her savings account could take the hit, but could her carefully constructed façade of control?

She’d worked hard since college to never be in a position of surprise again. After Cooper’s arrest and subsequent death, she never wanted a repeat experience of her work being taken out of her hands and manipulated, especially if the end result harmed others. Her rise from obscurity in Palmer Tech had really taken months of Ray reassuring her—well first being disingenuous and committing subterfuge and  _then_  reassuring her—that she’d have complete autonomy over her department and projects. 

She stared down the opposite of that now. A job that involved unbelievable levels of red tape and bureaucracy and career politicians and jockeying for position and party lines and plain old corruption. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew how governments manipulated data and science to advance their agenda, and she would be helping them to perpetuate that.

Then again, she was also losing her motivation at the company. Earmuffs and silo’ing could only do so much to insulate her from the old boys—or  _bros_ —club’s criticisms. Short of suing an entire region for slander, her options were to quit or to keep her head down and get to work. After a year, the high road of the latter was losing its charm. Quitting would be the coward’s way out, but leaving for a campaign that would see her to an executive appointment? That would be the ultimate  _fuck you_.

 _If_ Senator Diggle won.

Felicity sighed. She needed more wine. And a certain candidate’s classified military records.

 

* * *

 

The past few months had been a whirlwind.

After meeting with Senator Diggle, the impressive Lyla Michaels Diggle, and their trusted advisors a few more times—not at campaign events but for casual dinners whenever they were in the Bay Area—her reservations about signing on disappeared. Maybe they would ultimately fail, but at least she’d be helping a politician she actually believed in. Ray and the board, who weren’t so misogynistic as to be blind to the success and profits of her projects, termed her leave as an unpaid sabbatical until the election. If worse came to worse, she’d still have a job. _If_ she was willing to go back with her tail between her legs.

She spent two weeks at the campaign headquarters in DC before it became obvious that her talents were being wasted there. And, oh dear god, was she bored. When Walter called, she immediately packed as much of her professional wardrobe as she could into one suitcase and jumped on a flight to Ohio of all places.

Felicity settled into her seat on the fancy coach bus, noting the strategic placement of the Secret Service agents throughout. The seat next to her was empty, and she was glad for the reprieve. For once, no one was hastily prepping her for the next event, skeptical that a woman who spent the better half of last year in a laboratory knew how to speak to the public.

To be honest, she barely needed to try. Palmer Tech held a number of defense contracts, mainly in the realm of armor and rehabilitation technology since Ray disliked weapons (another lasting effect of Anna’s senseless death), so the name carried most of the weight. All she had to do was show up and be passionate about saving lives and helping disabled veterans—well, disabled people generally but  _veterans_  especially—and people loved her. Usually.

There was that brief squabble with a reporter who’d been trying to goad her into a sound bite about cronyism, Palmer Tech’s government contracts, and now her role in Senator Diggle’s campaign. But she shut him down pretty quickly with her current status as an  _unpaid_  volunteer and how Palmer Tech’s declassified military inventions had been converted to technology available to the public at a subsidized cost. That barely contained verbal ass-whooping seemed to earn her a lot of respect within the campaign, especially among the security details that were mainly former military.

Speaking of...

Sara Lance, Lyla’s body(wo)man, plopped into the seat beside her, her neat ponytail bouncing against the headrest before settling. “Don’t look now,” the agent warned, causing Felicity’s head to pop up instinctively. Sara gave her an amused look for the opposite reaction. “Oh never mind.”

“Hi to you, too, Sara,” Felicity grinned.

She liked the other woman immediately upon meeting her. An interesting mix of highly capable and badass yet irreverent and sarcastic, all wrapped up in an extremely ripped package. In fact, after learning about her girlfriend, there was an awkward exchange where Felicity tried to clarify that she wasn’t  _checking out_  Sara but generally amazed by her physique. The agent endeared herself more to Felicity when her response was a wide grin and a genuine, “You’re cute,” instead of dragging out her embarrassment.

“Don’t look at what?”

“Oh, Ollie was checking you out,” Sara offered casually.

This time, Felicity’s head really did whip up, and her eyes went straight to the bus’s front row, left side, where Oliver’s cropped hair was just peeking up over the headrest. “Hah,  _funny_ ,” Felicity said faintly with an accusatory glare.

“What’s the deal with you two anyway?”

After a brief pause, Felicity finally settled on, “We’re... friendly.”

And they were, sort of. When she arrived in Ohio and ran straight into Oliver’s chest in the hotel hallway—because _of course_ she did—she had pretended their awkward introduction all those months ago hadn’t happened. Conveniently, they hadn’t seen each other at those casual hangs she had with the future president, and, miracle of miracles, she managed to greet him somewhat normally after using his chest to stabilize herself. Her needing to find the conference room doubling as the war room offered her a timely escape.

Later that night, she decided that she was going to win over Oliver Queen, at the same time she was going to help Senator Diggle—John,  _weird_ —win the presidential election. Maybe she couldn’t convince a community of douchey tech bros that she was a fully realized human being worthy of respect and with something valuable to contribute to society, but she could convince this one stoic, mountain of a former Army ranger. Oliver was, by all accounts, a respected, loyal man, and one of John’s best friends, and there was no reason they shouldn’t be friends. 

Yep, she was going to befriend the crap out of Agent Oliver Queen, even if he did look at her like she was an extraterrestrial.

It was kind of working, too. He no longer went out of his way to avoid her, and they had a four-sentence conversation the other day about his little sister, who Sara had offhandedly mentioned to her once. So there was that.

“Hmm, what else do you want to know?” Felicity raised a curious eyebrow at Sara’s smug tone. “I mean, you two did talk about Thea the other day, right? Well, his best friend is Tommy Merlyn, who happens to be in love with my older sister Laurel, who happens to be Ollie’s ex, because he and I happened to hook up while they were on a “break”.”

That raised the other eyebrow. Merlyn Global had been one of the companies recruiting her fresh out of MIT. She had turned them down for generic reasons, and she could still remember reading the headlines about the company’s collapse after its founder and CEO was imprisoned for very scary, horrific reasons. Somehow, she’d forgotten that Merlyn Global and Queen Consolidated, Oliver’s family’s former company, would have very close ties as the two largest companies in Starling City.

“Well, that’s uh...”

“All water under the bridge,” Sara finished with a dismissive shrug. “It was almost ten years and about five tours combined ago. We’re all very different people now.”

Felicity gaped for a moment at her casualness before recovering, “Clearly. Since you’re also into women now.”

“Exactly,” was Sara’s slick agreement. “Don’t tell Ollie that we’re grown though. He’s still all constipated and guilty around Laurel. It’s one of the main reasons Tommy can’t find his balls to make a move.”

“Sara,” Felicity interjected as if speaking to a small child, “why are you telling me this?”

“Felicity, you fit into the rare category of someone in politics who’s under 40 and not a pompous bag of air from a New England boarding school. Dig’s going to win this thing—don’t tell me to lower my expectations—and we’re all going to be spending a lot of time together. I figure I should get all the sordid history out of the way so we’re all on the same page, gossip-wise. Plus, you two will eventually pull your heads out of your asses and get it together so I’m just being proactive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felicity chuckled nervously.

“Sure you don’t,” Sara agreed with a definitely condescending pat on the head. “Ollie injured his left knee on his last tour. It still bothers him sometimes, probably because he never rehabbed it like he should have. Just FYI.”

With that, Sara patted her thigh and jumped out of the seat, moving over to sit by Lyla.

 _What_  just happened?

 

* * *

 

It took a few more weeks, but Oliver actually  _smiled_ when he saw her. At least when they weren’t playing the part of super serious Secret Service agent and super serious science advisor. All it took was a few late night run-ins because he’d been scheduled for the overnight patrols and she had a tendency to not sleep. Felicity, uninvited at first but with a standing invitation after, decided to accompany him on his patrols to burn off her excess energy, and somehow her nervous tic of babbling about any and everything had worn him down.

Oh, and they were on a first name basis now.

Felicity was pretty sure her name had never sounded as good as when Oliver said it a little soft and breathy and a slightly higher pitched than his usual timbre. It was the same tone that made Sara unsubtly dig her pointy elbows into her side and Lyla suggestively raise her eyebrows. The same tone that never failed to make her blush.

Well, she was over it now for sure. Whatever effect Oliver was having on her dormant libido had hit the Great Wall of China of walls last night. She couldn’t believe she had let herself, and let the others convince her to, believe that Oliver was interested in her like  _that_.

No, he was interested in perky, young interns who looked like they belonged on CNN or somewhere doing primetime commentary. At least that’s what she gathered from the looks of the woman leaving his hotel room last night. She’d been on her way to meet him for his patrol, not remembering that schedules and shifts change every few weeks, when his room door swung open.

The woman exiting had been  _disheveled_ and looked mildly embarrassed upon realizing there was someone else in the hallway. A walk of shame, if Felicity had ever seen one. Instead of making it more awkward, Felicity blanked her expression, giving her a nod and a bland smile. With a sigh of relief, the woman returned the smile and fled.

Felicity rushed back to her own room, careful not to run into whoever was actually on patrol for the night. The burn of tears behind her eyes had been unexpected, and she quickly blinked it away. There was no reason for her to be upset like this. All those signs Oliver might have been interested in her as more than a friend must have been her imagination. It wasn’t his fault she’d been reading into his friendliness, or that everyone else had been encouraging the delusion. He was allowed to feel however he felt about her.

Even if it was personally disappointing.

 

* * *

 

Equilibrium took a while to reestablish.

She couldn’t seem to shake off the disappointment, completely illogical as it was. Her sleeplessness worsened, and roaming the halls at night meant she kept running into Oliver’s hook ups, which fed her feelings of rejection and disappointment. And Oliver must have somehow found out that she had stumbled onto his extracurricular activities—damn it, Sara—because he’d been keeping his distance.

Every once in a while, he would give her an apologetic shrug, and, oh, she wanted to throttle him for that. It wasn’t enough for him to know she’d had  _expectations_  of him—for them—but then he was constantly  _apologizing_  for not being interested. Could this get more embarrassing?

The ridiculousness ended now.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Felicity knocked on his door. It was the middle of the afternoon, between events, and she knew the off-duty agents had just finished their group training session. Unless Oliver crossed the line he seemed to have and was hooking up with another agent, he should be in his room and  _unaccompanied_.

A moment later, he opened the door, still dripping sweat in his workout clothes, and looked mildly surprised to see her even though he must have checked the peephole. “Felicity?” he asked, and her knees almost wobbled with how long it’d been since she heard him saying her name.

Mentally, she slapped herself and shored up her defenses again. John’s lunchtime address to a high school had been spent half-listening and half-building up the walls around her heart. If all Oliver wanted to offer her was friendship, then friendship it would be. No more ogling him, no more hanging on his every word, no more quickening heartbeats when she saw him, just _no more_.

Finally, she treated him to a  _friendly_  smile, ignoring how his forehead crinkled in more confusion, and lifted the device in her hand to eye level. “Is now a good time?”

“A good time for what?” he questioned skeptically.

“To start your rehab,” she stated matter-of-fact. “I was walking by the gym a few days ago when you were working out with Rene, and I noticed your left knee is  _still_  buckling,” he had mentioned the IED explosion that earned him an honorable discharge on one of their late night patrols, “So I had Ray overnight this to me.”

He sagged in place a little and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he looked almost disappointed. “You want to help me?” Her answer was an enthusiastic nod, and he looked somewhere over her head before huffing out a sigh and shaking his head in disbelief. “ _Why_?”

Felicity bit her lip in hesitation, and it was merely her imagination that Oliver’s eyes focused on her mouth. “Because we’re  _friends_ , and this is something I can do to help you. Besides I’d sleep better if the secret service agent responsible for my safety wasn’t limping around.”

“I’m not lim—” he cut himself off with a resigned sigh. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

Offended, Felicity scoffed. “I  _built_  it. Stop stalling, and get on the bed. I mean, go sit on your bed with your left leg extended.” She didn’t pause but scooted past him into the room.

Instead of responding to her suggestive words, she heard Oliver heave a few deep breaths before closing the door. As she puttered around the room to set up the machine, he settled onto the bed as instructed. Honestly, she expected more of a fight.

“What is it?” He leaned closer to inspect the machine after she plugged it in and pulled out a retractable wand from the side. “I mean, what’s it do?”

“You’ve had therapeutic ultrasounds before?” Felicity guessed since it was a common treatment in physical therapy. Oliver nodded in response, and she continued, “Well, it’s like that but on steroids. And portable. Which is good for us traveling around. If this doesn’t help, I’ve got a few more devices in mind that Ray can send out.”

Felicity knelt in front of him and reached out to adjust his leg. In addition to the full body shudder, she heard Oliver suck in a sharp breath, and she quickly retracted her touch. “Sorry, did that hurt? Is it tender?”

When she looked up, his eyes were shut tight, and his breathing unsteady. Still, despite the obvious physical indicators, he jerkily shook his head. “Uh, no.”

Carefully, she placed her hand back on his knee and drew it out to the side. Felicity kept her eyes on his face to watch for any grimaces or indications of pain. Instead, his eyes darkened, and he bit down hard on his lower lip. It looked like he was getting turned—

No, of course not. She’d just had to push Oliver into letting her help him  _as a friend_. Her imagination needed a damn outlet. Like a healthy one, not like a ‘sex dreams starring Oliver’ one. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey!”

Her shoulder bumped into his, well, upper arm, and she grinned brightly up at Oliver. The victory party was in full swing, and she’d given up on actually trying to find the people she knew. She ran into them on occasion, in between people congratulating her on the foregone conclusion of her appointment as the new OSTP director.

That she spotted Oliver along a darkened wall was something of a miracle. She knew he and Sara had been relieved earlier in the night, once it became undeniable that John was going to be making an acceptance speech, so they could enjoy the party as “civilians.” Oliver obviously took that as a suggestion and rejected it, staying in position.

Without feeling self-conscious because they’d been building their friendship for months now, she threw her arms around him. After a second, he returned the hug, holding on tighter than she had started. A quick count to three as the time limit for friendly hugs, and Felicity made to pull back except Oliver didn’t exactly let her go.

“We did it!” she exclaimed as a distraction.

For once, Oliver audibly laughed. “I didn’t do a thing. You, on the other hand... You’re remarkable, Felicity.”

She tilted her head, valiantly ignoring his hands still on her lower back and _caressing_ the skin bared by the cutout in her dress. “Thank you for remarking on it.” The quip produced another chuckle, and he finally released her to step away. “I look forward to working with you, Agent Queen.”

Oliver turned his head away from her then. A spotlight conveniently arced over him from behind and illuminated his stupidly handsome profile. She caught the barest glimpse of him licking his lips before the harsh lighting moved on.

“Felicity, I—”

“Felicity!”

“Hold that thought,” she placed a hand on his chest, noticing that his hand came up to cover hers, and looked over her shoulder to where she’d heard her name. Lyla and Sara were waving her over, and she glanced back at Oliver to find his expression was inscrutable. Then he nodded, encouraging her to join the other women. “Right, um, I’ll see you in a few months?”

It would take time for John to be sworn in, then to nominate her and for the Senate to confirm it. After, she would need to officially wrap up at Palmer Tech, and maybe poach some of the staff. In any case, it would be a while before she saw Washington DC—and Oliver—again.

“Yeah, I’ll be here.”

Felicity stepped close again and leaned up to brush a very light kiss against his stubble. As if surprised, he turned to reciprocate too late, and she felt the faintest touch of his lips on her cheek before she settled back on her heels. With a soft smile, she dropped his hand that she hadn’t realized she was holding and turned to walk over to Lyla and Sara.

Her stupid, overactive imagination must have produced Oliver’s whispered “Waiting for you.” It must have because when she looked back, he was already gone and _not_ staring longingly after her.

_Get it together, Smoak._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a stereotypical apathetic millennial who never worked on a political campaign. Don’t @ me.


	6. Microscopic Field of View: Agent Queen (the Campaigner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s POV to Felicity’s time on the campaign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the good vibes, all.
> 
> This verse continues to eat my brain, and I’m not really doing anything to stop it so the adventure continues. Also, I threw together a graphic/header(?) for this on Chapter 1, but it’s kind of big for AO3 so you can also check it out on the [Tumblr](https://smewhereelse.tumblr.com/post/173004394622/damn-it-why-wont-the-eagle-just-land-already).

Oliver made a noise as he looked around the room, and Dig turned to him with a questioning look.

“And I thought the Army was a sausage fest.”

Dig stifled a laugh but then subtly raised his glass. “There’s one. Literally. There is one woman here that isn’t staff.”

With a quick scan, Oliver found the person in question. Ponytailed blonde wrapped in a red dress, looking more professional than any of the other ass kissers in the room. Now that he’d seen her, Oliver wasn’t sure how he overlooked her in the first place. She was cute, not exactly his type, but in a hot librarian way that should’ve been like catnip to this crowd.

Yet despite her attractiveness—the glasses were the one indicator of a stereotypical nerd—there was a distinctive space between her and the rest of the crowd. Not just literally but also figuratively. A few groups even seemed to be gossiping about her, in a way that reminded him of high school, and she, in return, looked bored and over all of it.

He followed Dig as he circled the room, glad-handing, but there weren’t any obvious, or nonobvious, threats to keep an eye on. So his eye kept finding the one appealing distraction around. As he watched, no one approached the woman, nor did she budge from the high-top table she’d taken refuge at. Finally, the event organizer, who’d been shepherding Dig around, noticed her.

“Ah, that’s Felicity Smoak. She’s a vice president at Palmer Tech.” The name triggered both their attentions since PT was well-known around the military community for their defense and medical innovations, rather than the software and apps crowd they were surrounded by. “Senator, would you like to meet her?”

Dig responded with a succinct  _yes_  and made a beeline towards the woman. She noticed their approach and, after a moment of what looked like resignation, shifted to greet them with a wide smile. Something in her seemed to respond to Dig’s innate kindness, and her smile grew, melted into a more sincere expression that hit Oliver somewhere in his chest.

He was still trying to puzzle out what and how she had changed to go from cute nerd to stunning woman, when he realized that Dig had politely tried to introduce him. And now he was just staring at this woman— _Felicity_ —while her hand hung in the air like a chump. Trying to save face, Oliver looked up and acknowledged her with a nod, pretending not to see as her face flushed red. 

Thankfully, Dig intervened, engaging her in a conversation that flew well over his head. Oliver tried to follow along, tried to do his job and scout potential threats, but he couldn’t keep his attention from just watching Felicity  _talk_. Had he ever been so enthusiastic about anything in his life? He could sense Dig struggling to keep up with her at times, but whenever Oliver thought she lost him entirely, she slowed down, backed up a few steps, threw in another analogy, and the conversation was on track again.

It took the organizer three tries, but eventually he managed to interrupt long enough to ask Dig if he was ready to move on. Reluctantly, the senator was, but only after extracting a business card from Felicity. Oliver moved with Dig, not unaffected by the sincerity in Felicity’s offer of good luck.

He watched her even as Dig spoke to the next donor. When she noticed everyone still staring at her, probably because of that elongated, enthusiastic conversation she’d just had with the guest of honor, Felicity seemed to shrink back into herself, back into that bored, disinterested woman from before. Eventually, she gave a nod of finality and walked out without looking back.

 

* * *

 

“What was that about?” Dig asked as they rode the elevator in the hotel. Lyla had stayed behind since the little Diglet was tiring her out so Dig had been anxious to get back to her all night. In response to Oliver’s raised eyebrow, Dig sighed, “With Ms. Smoak. You never mind when I introduce you to people.”

“It’s more for your benefit than mine,” Oliver reminded him. He could do without the mingling, but being polite to his bodyguard humanized Dig in a way that won him points with most people. “And I didn’t mind this time.”

“You didn’t even shake her hand,” he pointed out skeptically.

“She just... seemed like a threat,” Oliver finally offered. The excuse was as lame as it felt based on Diggle’s disbelieving scoff. “I didn’t want to get too friendly,” he continued, not at all helping his lost cause.

That prompted a full laugh from Dig, and Oliver scowled, annoyed. “A threat to  _something_ , I’ll give you that,” Dig muttered under his breath. “Well, you might have to get friendly. I think she’s a great candidate for OSTP director. What’d you think?”

_Yes, she would be_ , Oliver agreed internally. He already saw it in her passion for new, practical technology and the way she instinctively adjusted her conversational style and technical jargon to match the person she was speaking to. Still... no one could be as good as Felicity appeared. “I don’t know, man. Don’t you think a woman who looks like that would be distracting in government?”

With a disappointed glare, Dig raised an eyebrow, and Oliver quickly backtracked, “Not that her looks have any bearing on her qualifications. I just mean everyone in that room was avoiding her. Maybe there’s a good reason for it.”

Diggle rolled his eyes. “Pick up a newspaper every once in a while, Oliver. She’s a genius who, yes, looks like that. The sausage fest we were just in? Doesn’t exactly know how to deal with that combination, or I’m starting to suspect  _any_  female. It’s obvious to me that Ms. Smoak is worth her weight in gold, regardless of her appearance.”

“Right,” Oliver was quick to agree. Anything to end the conversation. “She’s obviously qualified so if you think she’ll be a good fit, sure.”

“ _Mmhmm_ ,” Dig muttered suspiciously, pinning him with a suspicious look that Oliver ignored until the elevator doors, thankfully, sprung open.

 

* * *

 

“That might be your foulest pick up to-date,” Sara commented from where she was leaning against the hallway, “And remember, I was around for your high school days with Helena. And I kind of helped you cheat on Laurel so I  _know_  your lows.”

Already tired, Oliver sighed, “What are you talking about?”

“Isabel Rochev?” she asked with an audible sneer. “Rumor has it she’s working for the enemy so maybe stop sticking your dick in crazy.” At the face he pulled, Sara laughed, a little meanly in his opinion. “You’re so lucky Felicity didn’t run into this bad decision.”

His confusion must have shown because she continued, “She has insomnia sometimes. Likes to roam the hotel hallways and has definitely bumped into one or two of your past assignations. Especially the ones that are lacking in, let’s call it,  _quality_.”

Oliver shut his eyes in mortification. He  _knew_  that. It was the entire reason they had gotten to know each other. Did he think that Felicity was sleeping more just because he didn’t have the night patrol the last few weeks? Of course, she was still haunting the halls, bearing witness to his self-destructive coping mechanisms. But Sara couldn’t know that so he forced himself to choke out a casual, “So?”

And, of course, one of his oldest friends wasn’t buying it. “So? So a week ago you would have had a heart attack if there was even a hint that Felicity Smoak thought poorly of you. Now you’re just going to bang whatever random political hanger-on you can find right under her nose and pretend nothing’s changed?”

Well, when she put in that way...

Sara cocked her head and folded her arms. “Out with it. What’s wrong with you? You were doing this great impersonation of an adult with a steady, meaningful job and an interest in a beautiful woman with more than two brain cells to rub together, and now you’re back to teenage dirt bag behavior. What happened?”

Oliver didn’t know how to explain it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to. Lately, he’d spent so much time guarding war rooms and meetings, and the unintentional,  _demoralizing_  consequence was constant exposure to Felicity’s casual brilliance.

She barely even registered the mind-blowing ideas that dropped out of her mouth, yet even he could tell that she impressed the campaign staff after about five minutes. Felicity had a way of thinking and approaching problems that was completely novel to the politically minded and military-trained advisors. He didn’t know what was wrong with the sausage fest she used to work in, but it was damn obvious Felicity had an excess of brains and definitely knew how to use them. Hell, he was starting to feel grateful  _on her behalf_  that Dig and Walter lured her away to an environment where her genius was recognized and appreciated.

And he said that as someone who hadn’t necessarily appreciated women for their minds in the past. Growing up, Ollie had always taken Laurel’s intellect and ambition for granted. Having a girl as smart as Laurel so interested him had just been another stroke to his ego. During his tours, he was more interested in stress relief than anything else, and that priority had been shared by his partners. When he returned stateside, he dated women of substance more to keep himself out of the tabloids and less because he shared their interests. He’d matured enough that he’d genuinely cared for his exes, but he didn’t always care about the things they did, which still made him a dick in Thea’s opinion. 

Thea was probably right, but he didn’t know how to explain to his little sister that women often expected more from him than he was willing to give. Until he met Felicity, at least. Oliver was starting to suspect he’d end up wanting to give Felicity  _everything_ , as pathetic as that offer would be. 

The more time he spent with her, the more she fascinated him. Not only was she polite enough to not mention how impolite  _he’d_  been at their first meeting, but, for whatever reason, she was also hell bent on becoming his friend. Which was new and unfamiliar.

People usually wanted one of two things from Queens: sex or money. Well, sometimes they wanted both those things. He shuddered at the thought when applied to his little sister, but it was true nonetheless.

Felicity just wanted to get to know him. She asked about Thea, what it was like growing up with two loving parents (but carefully ignored the lost family fortune), his interests, which were limited outside of his job, and all the other normal things  _friends_  might talk about. Even as he started looking forward to their chats, he couldn’t help but be suspicious.

He asked Sara about it a few weeks ago, after she’d had time to interact with Felicity. His friend and fellow agent sent him the most offended and incredulous look he’d ever gotten from her. “What do you mean what’s her  _angle_?”

“I mean,” Oliver sighed, feeling as awkward as he did with Dig in that elevator after they first met Felicity, “Why do you think she’s so...”

“ _Nice_?” Sara finished for him with an eye roll. “Because she’s a nice person, Ollie. And I thought I was fucked up from the Army. Felicity wants to be your friend because you’re clearly important around here, to John, to Lyla, and she wants to fit in. Hell, she might even be trying because she thinks you’re a good guy, Mr. Purple Heart. Stop being so paranoid.”

It was that simple. A nice, beautiful, brilliant woman wanted to be his friend because she thought he was a good person, and Oliver, fuck up that he was, had no idea how to cope with it. Especially as he was starting to realize that he didn’t want to be just friends.

Felicity made him curious about her world, and he wanted to immerse himself in it. For once, he found himself genuinely interested in someone else’s interests. In fact, any outsider would say that  _he_  was the one with an angle. To make Felicity as interested in him as he was in her.

Except he shouldn’t be doing that.

Because she was this nice and beautiful and brilliant woman who deserved better than a warped, damaged human being who couldn’t even accept that someone might want to be his friend without a hidden agenda. Oliver could tell Felicity had a stray thought here and there about him, because he looked like he did and because she was a good person who mistakenly thought he was a good person. But he wouldn’t let her make the even worse mistake of  _dating_  his unworthy ass so he distracted himself as best he could with other women to prevent himself from accidentally encouraging Felicity’s affections.

Felicity deserved better than that, better than  _him_.

Oliver just had no real way of explaining that mess of emotions and feelings to Sara without sounding paranoid and, frankly, crazy.

Finally, he settled on asking Sara, “Did you see Felicity last week at the VA event?”

“Yeah, she did great. Better than she was expecting, really. I know it’s a burden being blonde and cute and never taken seriously,” Sara waved generally at her own self, “but I’ve been telling her there’s some power in that she can use. People underestimate you, for one, and, two, there’s a reason they put sugar in cough syrup.”

“Huh?”

Sara rolled her eyes at his inelegant confusion. “Sometimes a pretty face makes bad news go down easier. She probably could have told them Dig plans to slash the defense budget, and they still would have pinched her cheeks and called her adorable.”

Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, Oliver countered with, “I think you’re underestimating the top brass.”

“Hey, I didn’t say  _which_ cheeks they’d pinch,” she  _cheekily_  ignored his warning growl, “And in case you’re forgetting, I used to  _be_  in the military. I’m definitely not underestimating them. But back on topic, what about Felicity at the event?”

His mouth twitched. He almost got away with that one but, of course, he didn’t. “You’re right. Felicity was great. She has these amazing ideas and motivation and drive and ambition—”

“—and you’d like to pinch her  _cheeks_.”

“—and she deserves better than a guy like me.”

Out of nowhere, Sara slugged him in the arm. Wincing, he rubbed the soon-to-be-bruised area, more than aware of how much of a punch Sara packed. She didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic though. 

“A guy who hangs on her every word, who has a job protecting the future president, who isn’t afraid to show how much he loves his little sister? Yeah, you’re a real loser, Ollie. Don’t know what I was thinking talking you up to Felicity. Oh, wait, I don’t have to because she already respects you, although you’re doing overtime to flush that down the drain.”

“Because she shouldn’t. I don’t deserve her—respect.” Oliver didn’t let her interrupt, or punch him again. “Will you just drop it?”

Sara gave an exaggerated pout. “Fine, but only because we’re going to be late and I hate repeating myself. By the way, your ability to self-sabotage would be impressive if it weren’t so damn depressing.”

Oliver shook his head at her but he couldn’t really disagree.

 

* * *

 

Oliver didn’t know how many more improvised physical therapy sessions he could take. If he knew that Felicity’s stubborn attempt to keep their fledgling friendship alive despite his best efforts to tank it would lead to  _this_ , then he would have slammed the door in her face that first day. Rudeness, be damned.

At least then, he wouldn’t have to deal with the daily torture of Felicity kneeling before him, her hands on his thighs to spread his legs apart, so she could... try to recuperate his knee.

Felicity could have been convinced to give up by now, but the treatments were working. He had better range of motion and longer endurance before he started to feel those twinges in the troublesome joint. He should have done this years ago after the injury, except then he didn’t have the incentive of spending time with Felicity.

The problem was that his dick was such an ungrateful bastard, he could barely wait until she left his room to jerk off to the stimulating image of Felicity kneeling before him, her hands on his thighs to spread his legs apart, so she could...

The knock startled him so bad, he almost fell off his bed. That would be Felicity, there to be his friend and help him get better. He sent his crotch a warning look before getting up to answer the door.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Felicity responded distractedly. Without even thinking about it, she placed her hand on his chest—because they were comfortable like that now—to shift him back so she could squeeze past him in the doorframe. “You’re wearing pants,” she stated obviously, almost accusatorily, when she finally focused on him.

“Uh, yeah.” Oliver glanced down, just now realizing that khakis weren’t the best apparel for physical therapy on his knee. Unless Felicity could work around them. “Is that a pro—”

“Well, take off your pants already. What are you waiting for?” she railroaded right over his question. It took a second for the comment to register because she was preoccupied plugging in the machine—Oliver hurriedly half-turned away from the view—but then she was straightening up in a rush.

Her throat clearing was more of a choke, and her face was suddenly flushed. “I imagined saying that in other circumstances,” she muttered and, after realizing he was mere feet away and could hear her, clarified, “Purely platonic circumstances. Like these. You know what I mean. I need access to your, uh,  _knee_.”

With a pained grunt, Oliver grabbed a pair of athletic shorts and disappeared into his bathroom. When he emerged, Felicity was looking at her phone, as distracted as when she first showed up. “Hey, if you’re too busy today...”

“Don’t even try to get out of this. Consistency is the key to recovery,” she snapped. Oliver responded by retreating a step, and she sighed out an apology. “Long day,” Felicity muttered before gesturing for him to take a seat.

Her attempt to pull the wand out of the machine was more of a yank that resulted in a drop, and Felicity uncharacteristically cursed. Oliver stopped her scrambling for it by reaching out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. She let out such a distraught sound that his hand automatically moved up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his touch with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Before she could respond, he cut her off with, “Don’t say nothing.”

“I already said it was a long day,” she muttered defensively and pulled away from his hand. Feeling bereft, Oliver leaned back, suspecting he’d have to wait her out. “I just—hate people some days.”

“No, you don’t,” he laughed. Felicity had the biggest heart of anyone he’d ever met. She’d dedicated her entire career to helping people, even when they were stubborn jerks about it like he was. Still, her dirty look hinted that a laugh wasn’t the sympathetic reaction she’d been hoping for. “You  _don’t_  though.”

“I guess not,” she shrugged, picking up the wand to fiddle with it. “I’m just fed up with it all. It’s so stupid.”

“What is? Politics?” Oliver hazarded a guess. There was a reason he stayed the muscle in the background. All the  _navigating_  Dig did gave him a headache and made him want to find a nice underground cave to hide in. He’d put a giant electronic lock on the door, and no one would have the code, except maybe Thea, and Dig and Lyla, and Tommy, and definitely Felicity.

“You can’t let them get to you, all right? There are people who have made up their mind, and they’d argue with you that the sky is…  _green_  just to argue. That’s not on you to reason with them because there is no reasoning with them. But if you ever need to tell someone about your day, you can tell me. You don’t have to bottle it up.”

Her response was a soft “Thanks” and an even softer smile. Oliver cleared his throat and desperately looked around for something to focus on other than how Felicity’s smile might feel against his lips. Sensing his panic, Felicity turned to the machine and cranked it on.

Shit.

He was in trouble.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell is going on?”

When he exited the elevator onto Felicity’s floor, Oliver didn't expect to find Felicity and Sara, doing what looked like a victory dance and waving around bottles of wine, probably empty ones based on their dance moves.

“Oliver!”

“Ollie!”

He instinctively winced away from the high pitches but cautiously advanced to snag the bottles out of Felicity’s hands. With her coordination, she’d end up braining Sara with one, and he’d be stuck pulling overtime like when Sara was shot.

Fine, he probably shouldn’t complain about extra shifts when Sara had gotten a bullet in her shoulder. A bullet that Nyssa had almost started World War III over if rumors were to be believed. And they were. Oliver could totally picture Nyssa raising her swords and leading an army of assassins into war with a battle cry of revenge for her beloved. He definitely didn’t envy Lyla that conversation.

Mistaking his intentions, Felicity sent him a saucy grin, and that description was accurate for more than just her being sauced. She sidled up next to him to unsuccessfully try to steal a bottle back. “Are you joining the victory party, Oliver?”

Crouching, he retrieved a key card from the floor. They must have been trying to get into Felicity’s room and, since they had clearly failed, decided to have the “victory party” in the hall. Somehow, he got the feeling Dig and Walter would be grateful if he managed to corral the two into somewhere private.

“What are we celebrating?” he asked with an amused twitch of his lips. Felicity had taken the loss of her wine in stride and was spinning in slow circles with her hands raised. The position lifted her shirt, and he was surprised to see muscle definition where one wouldn’t expect on a computer scientist/corporate executive.

Sara, more sober than she was letting on apparently, must have caught him looking because she laughed outright at him. “Ding dong! The witch is dead!” she exclaimed, sending Felicity into another fit of laughter.

“Who?” Oliver questioned. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed away the road block that was Sara and slid the key into the door. He shouldered it open, rolled the empties in, and used one hand to pull Felicity through and the other to wave Sara in. Thankfully, his fellow agent followed instructions instead of physically grappling him for the concession like she’d been known to do.

“Isa-bitch! No! That’s a bad word. I don’t use it for other women.  _Isabel_ ,” Felicity corrected solemnly, even as Sara snorted at her prim nature.

He looked to Sara for further explanation, and she shrugged. “Apparently, Isabel’s been the one leaking strategy to the press. They’re not sure why, just think she was trying to cash in on fifteen minutes of fame or a literal payday. But, yeah, she’s out.”

“Isabel  _hated_  me,” Felicity offered, finally explaining why they were having a victory party for Isabel’s departure.

The tipsy ramble continued as she focused on Oliver. “Remember a couple weeks ago I was upset? It wasn’t the constituents of Oregon or wherever we were getting me down. It was Isabel, saying all those stupid things the tech bros used to.  _Just a dumb blonde. Got her job on her back_ ,” she adopted a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like the other woman. “I don’t know why. I mean, she was never really nice to me, and I barely ever talked to her, but then she started being  _so_ mean to me. For  _no_  reason. Really, I swear I didn’t do anything to her.”

Oliver choked on air. Felicity didn’t notice, but Sara did. Damn it.

“You didn’t!” Sara was all disbelieving wide eyes, but he could detect the undercurrent of amusement and unadulterated  _glee_. He was never going to live this down. “Oh my god, you  _totally_  did. You were— With— And you said— The  _wrong_ —” Sara was laughing so hard she was struggling for breath, never mind words.

“I’m leaving!” he interrupted before Sara could do something horrifying like string together a complete sentence. Felicity pouted at him from where she’d collapsed on her bed, and Oliver filed that mental image away for later and  _fled_. “Happy hangovers!”

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing? It’s freezing out here!”

Oliver looked over his shoulder to find Felicity swaddled in not only her coat but also what looked like a spare comforter. He was just in his suit jacket but he hadn’t noticed the cold until she mentioned it.

Of course, it was cold. He was— _they_  were—standing on the roof of a hotel in West Virginia in mid-October. Without asking, Felicity flung half the comforter over his shoulders. It didn’t make much sense with their height difference, so he pulled her in front of him and rearranged the blanket into a cocoon that he closed by bunching the material at her back.

“This is miserable. Couldn’t you go get some air in a sauna or something?” she complained, folding herself in against his chest.

Automatically, his arms wrapped more securely around her, stopping the light bouncing she was doing to stay warm. She reciprocated by sliding her hands under his jacket and around his waist. Now he was so comfortable he wanted to rest his head against hers and never move.

“I think there are some hot springs nearby,” Oliver offered. He needed something to distract from the increasingly familiar sensation of Felicity’s hugs. She was such a good hugger he could barely think of anything but how naturally their bodies fit together. The natural attractions of West Virginia would have to do as small talk.

“You’re a good hugger,” she mumbled, taking the thought out of his head. “And, no, thank you. I have zero desire to be wet and outside right now. I don’t care how hot that hot spring is supposed to be.”

“Now, there’s an image,” he muttered then complained at her sharp pinch to his side. “You didn’t have to come up here.”

Felicity scoffed. “And let you freeze to death while you relentlessly brooded at the night? I think you’re worth losing a toe or two to frostbite, Queen. What’s wrong?” Before he could respond, she cut him off with, “Don’t say nothing.”

“This sounds familiar,” he teased, recalling the day he’d finally reached out to Felicity and offered her the same consideration as a friend that she’d extended to him in her own ‘soon-to-be-former vice president of a technology company’ way. “It’s Thea. She’s still struggling with me being gone. I think she thought I’d come home after the election, but I told her I was staying in DC whether or not Dig won.”

“He will.” Her voice was resolute and strong, a little bit of positive thinking they’d all adopted in this home stretch. “Why don’t... Why don’t you ask her to join you in DC? It sounds like she’s only staying in Starling because it’s home, but it also sounds like Starling’s not really home for her when  _you’re_  not there. There’ll be plenty of opportunities after the election, and Thea’s smart and resourceful. She’d find something to do pretty easily. I mean, if she wanted to be there.”

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right,” Oliver conceded with a huff because he couldn’t believe how narrow-minded he’d been. “I’ve been trying to keep her and this job separate. But she shouldn’t be holed up back home, waiting for me. That’s insane. Thea should be out experiencing the world. Even better if I can be a part of that.”

“Exactly!” Felicity grinned up brightly at him, and it felt like the cold disappeared. “And one Washington’s as good as another, right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You haven’t experienced a swamp summer yet,” he reminded her. Turning serious, Oliver breathed, “Thank you,” and lowered his head to press a long kiss to her forehead.

“You never have to thank me,” was her quiet response as he soaked in the moment. “Okay, can we go inside now? Because I wasn’t really serious about losing my toes to frostbite just for you, Oliver.”

Well, then, moment over.

 

* * *

 

Oliver wasn’t sure what he would have said if Sara and Lyla hadn’t interrupted them at the victory party.

“I love you” was out of the question. Sort of. Maybe. He might think it on occasion but he wasn’t crazy enough to say it out loud. He hoped.

He could have apologized for how he treated her when she first joined the campaign. He’d owed her an apology for months now, even if she had seemingly forgiven and forgotten his poor behavior. If his mom could see him now, wanting to apologize without being forced to by a court order, then Moira Queen would probably roll over in her grave.

Maybe he would have just expressed his gratitude for her friendship and how far they’d come. Granted, their initial setback was due to his emotional constipation exacerbating her social awkwardness, but that was beside the point. Felicity had become one of his best friends. She even fixed his knee after he’d given her every reason to write him off as a philandering jerk who wasn’t mature enough to just be friends with a woman.

Even if Dig had lost, Oliver would have considered the campaign a success for the gift of Felicity’s friendship.

But then Felicity had to remind him that she was leaving for San Francisco in the morning. That she’d be gone for weeks,  _months_ , leaving him without her bright, enthusiastic presence that he lov—had grown fond of. He would just be stuck here, waiting for her to come back and bring the light back into his life.

What a depressing thought when he should be celebrating his best friend’s victory. Tonight, Dig may have just achieved his greatest desire, but Oliver was watching  _his_ greatest desire walk away. His heart felt like it simultaneously stopped and started pounding at the realization.

He couldn’t help it. The words slipped out. A quiet acknowledgement that his life would be a little emptier— _empty_ —until he saw her again. Then he turned away, unwilling to watch any longer as she left.

 


	7. Cordial Invitation: The Inauguration of John Diggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Presidential Inaugural Committee requests the honor of your presence to participate in the inauguration of John T. Diggle as President of the United States of America and Quentin L. Lance as Vice President of the United States of America on Friday, the twentieth of January, two thousand and seventeen in the city of Washington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you this was still eating my brain. And, no, I’m not done torturing these two.

 

His phone chimed, and he glanced at the screen to find a picture of a salad. Well, he assumed it was a salad, but it was hard to say with the amount of seeds littered all over it.

FS, 5:43 PM: Is it weird to say I miss middle America?

OQ, 5:45 PM: Yes if the reason is because you don’t want to eat a salad

FS, 5:46 PM: This isn’t a salad  
FS, 5:46 PM: It’s the leftovers of a bird feeder  
FS, 5:47 PM: This is what even the birds wouldn’t eat

OQ, 5:47 PM: It’s good for you  
OQ, 5:48 PM: Also is that your lunch?   
OQ, 5:48 PM: It’s almost 3 over there

FS, 5:49 PM: ...  
FS, 5:49 PM: I plead the fifth

OQ, 5:50 PM: That’s not what that’s for

FS, 5:52 PM: Excuse me if I’m a little busy trying to finish annual reports and hire for OSTP simultaneously

OQ, 5:53 PM: And look for apartments

FS, 5:53 PM: And look for apartments  
FS, 5:53 PM: And get ready for an inaugural ball  
FS, 5:54 PM: You’re still picking me up from the airport right?

OQ, 5:56 PM: Tomorrow 14:25 Reagan

FS, 5:57 PM: It’s so cute how you still use military time

OQ, 5:58 PM: It’s less confusing  
OQ, 5:59 PM: I don’t want to be waiting for you at the airport at 2:25 in the morning  
OQ, 6:01 PM: And subtracting 12 from 13-24 is about the only math I can do

FS, 6:02 PM: That was a great self-burn  
FS, 6:03 PM: And now I’m late for yet another soul crushing transition meeting  
FS, 6:03 PM: Can’t wait to see you!  
FS, 6:05 PM: And everyone I mean  
FS, 6:06 PM: Because dinner with everyone tomorrow night

OQ, 6:07 PM: I can’t wait to see you too

OQ,  _draft_ : I hate that I’ll have to share you with everyone else

Oliver sighed heavily before deleting the unsent message.

Through almost daily texts, they kept in touch and shared their lives with each other. It wasn’t enough, though. Texting was a poor substitute for the real thing—he missed their casual touches and her hugs and the way her eyes lingered on him whenever she saw him post-workout—especially when those messages reminded him of how ridiculous it would be for Felicity to date him.

The last time he saw her, on election night, he’d been on the verge of saying  _something_ that might have changed their relationship forever. In hindsight, he was thankful for the interruption that kept his outburst from happening. With all this distance between them for the last two months, he could once again appreciate how far out of his league Felicity was. 

While he spent his days working out and silently shadowing prominent politicians, Felicity had to fit texting him in between meetings about billion dollar technology and leadership transitions. And while he was floundering with the distance, apparently Felicity had just been reminded of all the other options out there who would be more suitable for her. She never shied away from mentioning other men in her texts. He knew she wasn’t doing it to hurt him or cause him jealousy, but because they were so unthinkable, she didn’t even consider that it might be an issue for him. They were friends, good friends, and after everything she’d shared with him, of course, he’d want to hear about how the men of Silicon Valley were looking at her differently— _appreciatively_ —now that her directorship was practically guaranteed.

If those assholes didn’t appreciate her without an executive appointment, then they didn’t deserve her with one, but Felicity didn’t need him to remind her of that.

His hopes weren’t high for once she permanently moved to DC either. Felicity wouldn’t be any less busy or important. Hell, she’d be advising the president and in charge of guiding the entire nation’s science and technology policy. Surely, somewhere in the administration, she would meet someone with a similar intellect level, who hadn’t committed the cardinal sin of overlooking her when she’d been in the tech industry, and that would be that. He’d be nothing but a dodged bullet.

In what universe could he compete for the affections of a woman like Felicity?

No, it’d be better for her if he didn’t press the issue and make things awkward. Felicity was clearly comfortable with them as friends so he could keep it friendly and push down any inclination to be  _more_. He had to because he wasn’t willing to risk losing her friendship.

Her visit this week would be the perfect test of that resolve.

 

* * *

 

Sara had been picking at her lunch when her phone rang. With one glance at the caller ID, she settled in for what was bound to be an amusing conversation. Her enthusiastic greeting wasn’t exactly reciprocated.

“Sara.” Thea’s voice was urgent and hard. “He is  _picking her up_  from the airport.”

“I know this. Felicity told me when I offered.”

“She’s  _staying with him_  for the week.”

“Again, Felicity told me when I offered.”

“And they’re  _not_  dating?”

“Nope,” Sara popped the ‘p’, chuckling when she heard Thea’s aggravated sigh. Poor kid was just catching up to where the rest of them have been for months. “Want them to be?”

“How am I supposed to know? I’ve barely met her, and whenever I ask about her, Ollie just gets the goofy look on his face before sighing, “Felicity’s... Felicity.” Okay, yeah, maybe.”

She laughed at the petulant concession. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, little Queen. You’re going to love Felicity. I got you such a good sister-in-law.”

“You better have, Lance. She hasn’t even moved here yet, and I already want to throttle Ollie for being such an idiot.”

With Thea already on the phone, Sara used the opportunity to clue the younger woman into her plans for the night. Since Felicity and Oliver insisted on being oblivious and stubborn, subtlety was taking a flying leap out the window. Sure, she missed her friend and wanted to see her, but tonight would be a sacrifice for the greater good and, hopefully, a step forward.

 

* * *

 

Thea, despite her adamant protests that  _no one_ left voicemails anymore, left him one this morning.

 _“Don’t be a weirdo. I mean it, Ollie. If you are_ just _friends with Felicity, you stay in the car, in the cell phone lot, until she texts you that she’s outside. You do not—I repeat,_ do not _—park the car, walk into the building, and wait for her in the arrivals hall. That is a thing a boyfriend does. You, for some_ unholy _reason, claim to not want to be her boyfriend so_ you sit your ass in that car! _But since I know you’re going to ignore me and waltz your ass in there and create a scene straight out of a schmaltzy Nicholas Sparks movie, do not—I repeat,_ do not _—bring flowers. I mean it. Flowers at the airport are defcon one relationship status. Don’t do it. Oh god, your pathetic ass is going to do it. You’re the worst.”_

The voicemail ended there without so much as a goodbye. If she was going to work in the White House, Thea really needed to clean up her language. Although she’d be glad to know that he didn’t bring flowers. Thought about it, but didn’t.

But Thea was right about him ignoring her and going into the airport.

Oliver didn’t even regret it. Felicity’s face had  _lit up_  when he called her name. There had been an excited squeal from he hoped Felicity and not him, a tight hug with him lifting her off her feet, some swaying, maybe a slow spin or two. He definitely had to (poorly) distract her from the little old ladies cooing over what a cute couple they were.

“Are they talking about us?”

“Uh, no! Definitely not.”

They left the airport with him pulling her suitcase, her arm wrapped around his free one, and blinding smiles on both their faces.

 

* * *

 

Felicity tried her hardest to not stare as Oliver loaded her suitcase into the trunk of his perfectly reasonable, inconspicuous crossover. Somehow, even under the thick material of his peacoat, she could see his back muscles moving with the effort of lifting her overpacked suitcase. Hey, she had an inaugural ball to attend. There was no such thing as overprepared.

The quick moment gave her time to replay their entirely unexpected reunion in the airport and to realize how crazy she must have looked.

The flight had been spent psyching herself up for this, but clearly it was insufficient. For one of the very few times in her life, Felicity was absolutely unprepared despite  _hours_  of preparation. She had barely even slept last night, buzzing with nervous energy. Yet, somehow, she had been completely caught off guard by Oliver in the flesh. How— _how_ —had she forgotten how good-looking he was, how his smile made her heart feel like bursting, how very much in love with him she’d fallen in a few short months? The moment he called her name and she looked up into his beaming face, all her pep talks were shot to hell.

The effect this man had on her was inhuman and, frankly, offensive.

Before panic could fully set in, because she’d predicted having another twenty minutes _at minimum_  before seeing him in person again, he wrapped her in his huge arms. Suddenly, she found herself engulfed by warm muscle padded by expensive wool and whatever the hell Oliver used to make himself smell irresistible. Some strange squealing sound left her mouth, but she couldn’t focus on that for long since Oliver picked her up as if she weighed nothing and  _swayed_. He may have even swung them in a slow circle or two.

The chatter of nearby little old ladies broke her out of her Oliver-induced haze. Felicity stiffened when she heard them gushing about the cute couple and made the mistake of asking Oliver if she’d heard right and the women were talking about  _them_. His “no” was so immediate and almost offended—Felicity decided to do him a favor and adjust it to  _incredulous_ —that she almost physically deflated.

The enthusiastic hugging must be how Oliver greeted all the friends he hadn’t seen in months. Nothing at all to do with her specifically. Of course, distance hadn’t made his heart grow fonder like it’d done to hers. Stupid high hopes.

Oliver wasn’t the one who’d been texting her every day with any inane thought that sprung into his head just to maintain the barest minimum of a connection. No, that’d been all her, bored between meetings and trying desperately to remember that Ray was a  _friend_ , who’d believed in her when few had, and she owed him a smooth transition. So to prevent herself from dropping the mic and peacing out of the place, she tried to distract herself by investing in her and Oliver’s friendship. Except that had the opposite effect and just made her want to get to DC sooner.

Felicity thought he shared that excitement—Oliver had been the one to suggest that she take the week of the inaugural ball to apartment hunt although he stopped short of offering to help her—but obviously not. Not in the same way that she’d been excited to see him.  _Specifically_ him.

Still, that discouragement hadn’t stopped her from wrapping an arm around his as they walked out of the airport, and she was just grateful he didn’t shake off her touch once the buzz of the first meeting wore off.

 

* * *

 

“Do you mind if we stop at the grocery store?”

Oliver couldn’t help but glance over at Felicity every few moments. It probably counted as distracted driving, but he’d be damned if he could stop. Compared to the initial excitement at the airport, she seemed subdued. He figured it was the standard sluggishness that came with cross-country travel, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned. 

“Of course not, but can we get Oreos?”

The mischievous smile that accompanied the question felt more like Felicity, and he grinned over at her. “I’d... prefer if you didn’t. Don’t want to ruin your appetite.”

“It’s just pizza with the gang,” Felicity shrugged, wholly unconcerned with how his palms were suddenly slippery against the leather of the steering wheel. “I’m sure they won’t mind as long as we get enough Oreos for everyone.”

“About that,” he hedged with a grimace, “Pizza night got rescheduled for tomorrow. It’s just you and me tonight.” One by one, their friends had fallen like dominoes. First, Sara begged off for the night, then Walter, then Dinah, then Tommy, then Thea, and the next thing he knew they all cancelled. Which was bullshit. He knew exactly how excited Thea was to meet Felicity for longer than five minutes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Felicity stilled. He could practically hear her counting down from three in her head before she forced herself to relax again. “We can just do takeout. You don’t have to go to the store.”

“You know how you’re always bugging me about getting a hobby?”

That was one of her favorite topics of conversation. Felicity was always tinkering with  _something_. She was one of the lucky few who truly loved what she did and had managed to convert her hobbies and interests into financial stability. In their months on the road, he tried to convince her that work could just be work, but she didn’t accept that, especially when he only excelled at his job because of a “fucked up sense of moral obligation and guilt” in her words, so she was always suggesting things for him to try, to expand his life outside of the job.

“I don’t  _bug_  you about it. I’m just concerned you’re not engaging with the outside world enough, which is ironic coming from a computer geek. And, of course, you’ve picked cooking, which I’m guessing you do alone in your kitchen.”

Felicity started muttering under her breath at that point, but Oliver could pick out enough. Something about him adding to his repertoire, as if he couldn’t get more perfect. He stifled the smile at Felicity’s reluctant praise hidden in her complaining.

“I’m good at it, too,” he added with just a hint of cockiness, and she pinched his hand.

 

* * *

 

“I could always spatchcock the chicken so it cooks faster,” he offered when her stomach audibly grumbled.

Felicity was embarrassed for a moment before narrowing her eyes at him. “You want to do what to the chicken? I mean, I’m not judging. Okay, I’m kind of judging, but it’s your house so I guess do what you want.”

“Felicity,” his lips quirked up just a little, “It’s a cooking technique.”

“Right,” she mumbled skeptically, “I knew that.”

She popped open the snacks they’d also picked up and settled in at the island to watch as he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. Whenever she made exaggerated sounds of awe while he expertly chopped vegetables and, yes, spatchcocked the chicken, Oliver would grin the tiniest of grins at her. Damn that look. Everything was roasting in the oven, and he was washing up the prep work when she finally summoned the courage to hum contemplatively.

“Sara’s mad at you, you know?” Felicity offered in what she hoped was a casual tone. Fishing. She was fishing to see if she could get a glimpse inside that stubbornly closed-off man.

“Yeah? What’d I do now?”

Oliver sounded completely nonplussed. She should have known that he and Sara were constantly needling each other still. It was all in good fun, and a testament to how far they’d come and what good friends they still were, but obviously a nonstarter for what she was trying to accomplish.

“For stealing me this week,” she grumbled. Did he even want her here, or had he just been polite in offering and she’d taken advantage without realizing? Maybe she  _should_  pack up and head over to Sara’s. Oliver turned to her with a quizzical look so she continued, “She’d offered to pick me up and stay with her and Nyssa, but I said we’d already made plans.”

“Well, yeah,” he scoffed, “Where else would you be but with your best friend?”

Felicity bit down hard on her lower lip. If she hadn’t, there was no telling what would have come out of her mouth. That was the death knell and why fishing was such a bad idea. Maybe she should have just resigned herself to living with the indecision and uncertainty instead of giving Oliver an opening to unintentionally rip her stupid heart out.

Even with all of Sara’s and Lyla’s and Dinah’s needling, she hadn’t admitted to anyone but herself that she’d been looking forward to this trip with  _hopes_. Not just hopes for a new job where she might be reinvigorated and find her motivation again but also hopes that the rest of her life might fall into place. Sure, John still had to nominate her after his inauguration, and the Senate still had to confirm it, but there was a 99.9% chance that in the next month or two she’d be a full-fledged DC transplant.

With that permanence looming, Felicity  _hoped_  she and Oliver might make a go of it. On the campaign trail, there was so much uncertainty—if John would win, if they would have jobs after Super Tuesday, where she’d be living in a few months—that it made perfect sense for them to avoid a romantic entanglement. All that uncertainty was coming to an abrupt end, though.

When the official invitation to the inaugural ball arrived, she hadn’t been nervous about meeting some of the most powerful people in the country. No, her heart had raced at the prospect of seeing Oliver again, of seeing if he’d been holding out hope for a relationship with her like she had. In her ideal world, Oliver had invited her to stay with him because, now that their lives and immediate futures were more certain, he wanted to explore taking their relationship to the next level.

Obviously, she’d built up all their near misses and all those weighty moments during the campaign in her head. What was that saying again? Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades? Somehow, she got the feeling Oliver wouldn’t like being compared to either of those things.

“Felicity?” She refocused to find Oliver staring at her with open concern. “I was just joking. I know I’m not your best friend.”

Blowing out an unsteady breath, she licked her lips, trying to buy time and find center again.  _Don’t cry_ , she scolded herself. ”Of—of course, you are.” Oliver started to smile, but she cut him off, “Best friend is a tier, not a person.”

“No, it’s not,” was his offended grumble.

Quickly, she excused herself to the bathroom to get a fucking hold of herself. Her heart being crushed didn’t change a thing between them because they had  _only_  ever been friends. She’d gotten over this disappointment once before during the campaign and she would do it again to keep Oliver as a friend.

 

* * *

 

“Stop fidgeting!” Thea scolded, and he scowled at her in return.

It wasn’t his fault he was so frustrated. This week was just... unideal. His plan of having Felicity stay with him to spend as much time with her as he could before she had to go back to San Francisco wasn’t going as planned. To be clear, he wanted the time to show her what a good friend—nay, the  _best_  friend—he would be. That way she wouldn’t feel the need to avoid him once she moved because he understood their  _friendship_. But there hadn’t been time.

At pizza night, Felicity asked Dinah to go apartment hunting. It made perfect sense since Dinah was a former police lieutenant and more up to date on DC’s crime stats than any of them, but he’d asked for coverage in order to go with her. Of course, he hadn’t told Felicity that and just assumed she’d want him along for the ride so, once she asked Dinah, he kept his mouth shut about it and gone to work instead.

That resulted in them not seeing each other at all during the day. Occasionally, she would text him pictures, gushing about natural light or a kitchen he’d love, but that was it. At night, they were bombarded with their friends, who, unlike the first night when they’d conspired to strand them alone, wanted nothing more than to spend the limited time with Felicity.

And Thea—his hellcat of a little sister—took to Felicity like a fish to water, dropping all sorts of unsubtle hints about how they felt like long-lost sisters. Oliver choked, wanting to clarify that he, in  _absolutely no way_ , saw Felicity as a sister, but the calculating look on Thea’s face stopped his denial in its tracks. Whenever Felicity looked at him, all wide-eyed and confused, he couldn’t say a thing without inviting all sorts of uncomfortable questioning.

In fact, he was surprised Thea wasn’t with Felicity and the rest now. Certain members of their group—Laurel, Sara, Nyssa, Felicity, Dinah, and oddly Tommy—opted for hours of pampering between the morning’s inauguration and the evening’s ball. The last look he had of Felicity today was her getting into a chauffeured car, courtesy of Tommy, after the inauguration ceremony to be whisked off for treatments. Yet, his sister had foregone the preparations and stuck around to apparently  _babysit_  him instead.

So, yes, he was  _fidgeting_. It’d been months since he’d seen Felicity in formal wear, and if she looked as heart-stopping as she usually did, there was no telling what he would do. Thea was right. He needed to get himself under control.

“Here they come.”

Oliver spotted Tommy first, his head bobbing a few inches above most of the crowd. Laurel was visible beside Tommy, but it took him a few more moments to sight Sara, especially with her shorter stature, then Nyssa. Nyssa just had a way of blending into crowds, which was ridiculous given her appearance and intensity but useful since her very presence was probably something of a diplomatic nightmare. Dinah wasn’t with the group, but neither was Felicity.

Thea scoffed, guessing at the exact reason he remained tense.

“D and Felicity broke off for the bar,” Sara offered once they were in earshot. “Something about liquid courage?”

Oliver ignored the suggestion in her tone. He must really be screwing this all up if Felicity felt the need for liquid courage to get through being around him. Why had she even accepted his offer to stay at his place if she was just going to avoid him the entire time? He grunted noncomittally and kept an eye out for the missing pair.

When he finally did catch sight of Felicity and Dinah, there was an interloper with them. The man looked a little familiar, but Oliver couldn’t place him. Not until Felicity stepped in with an introduction.

“This is Ray Palmer, my soon-to-be-former boss.”

Tuning out as Felicity listed off names and titles, Oliver decided he hated Ray on sight. He was tall(er than him), good-looking, and with the earnestness of three Boy Scouts. He also had his hand on Felicity’s back, and she was doing nothing to move away.

Oliver tried like hell to rein it in because this was exactly what he’d convinced himself was the best thing for Felicity. For her to be with someone on her level, who could match her wits and intelligence, and even better, this was her old boss, the man who’d seen her potential and helped her rise through the ranks. He hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, but with Felicity officially resigning from his company, of course Palmer would hurry to make a move on his former subordinate.

“But _always_ friend,” Palmer interjected with a teasing smile. “You not working at Palmer Tech doesn’t change that, Felicity.”

Clenching his jaw, Oliver looked away. He didn’t want to see the intensity Ray used to look at Felicity, like she was a puzzle he could solve. If Felicity reacted by blushing, the same way she blushed after her accidental innuendos to him, then he was pretty sure he’d flip a table, and no one needed that.

“Long way from Silicon Valley, aren’t you?” Hearing the slight edge in Tommy’s voice, Oliver sent a silent thanks to his best friend. “Won’t your company be missing you?”

“Not as much we’ll miss Felicity,” Palmer countered.  _Smooth bastard_ , Oliver cursed internally. “And no sane person would turn down an invitation to this inaugural ball. Not when it’s the president who’s going to have the best science advisor in history.”

“Stop it,” Felicity chided, the embarrassment evident in her tone. “Ray’s been a big donor throughout the campaign. In fact, Ray was supposed to attend that event where I first met John—the president, I mean—but he wouldn’t leave his lab so I ended up going in his place.”

“Are you kidding?” Palmer exclaimed, incredulous. “All I had to do was go to some boring fundraiser and you wouldn’t have been stolen out from under my nose?”

“Felicity’s not a possession.” Too late, Oliver realized the intensity in his voice and the hint of a threat in the near-growl. The entire group froze before starting to nearly vibrate in anticipation. Only Felicity looked concerned,  _finally_  stepping away from Ray to lay a hand on his forearm. “I didn’t—I just mean, she wasn’t  _stolen_  away from you. Felicity  _chose_  to join the campaign and working in this administration is where she belongs.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Felicity released his arm. “She can also speak for herself,” she raised an eyebrow as a pointed reminder, “but Oliver’s right. Leaving Palmer Tech was a calculated risk, but I have a feeling it’s going to pay off.”

“Of course it will. There’s no way Felicity Smoak does anything but succeed,” Palmer returned with a genuine smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone I’ve been meaning to call. It was a pleasure meeting you all.”

He hadn’t really met them. Felicity didn’t even have the time to properly introduce them all, but Oliver would admit that the man at least knew how to get the hell out of Dodge. His satisfaction was cut short when he realized Felicity hadn’t joined the new conversation but was still looking at him contemplatively.

Without any attempt at subtlety, she took him by the hand and pulled him aside.

“I’m sorry but what the hell was that?” Her tone was as concerned as it was upset, and Oliver did his best to keep a straight face. Was she pissed that he’d scared off Palmer? Had she planned on her “soon-to-be-former boss” being here tonight and that’s why she’d been avoiding him this last week? So he wouldn’t get  _ideas_  when she was trying to create an opening for Palmer? And why did he care so much when he’d already decided that being with Felicity wasn’t an option?

His silence must have given away something he didn’t realize because Felicity softened and took a different approach. “Why were you bothered by what Ray said?”

“Look, I get that you’re crazy smart and a valuable asset and everything, but it’s just...” he paused, trying to get a handle on his thoughts before he said something irreversible, “You’re more than that to me. More than just a commodity some company can leverage for profit. I didn’t like hearing you talked about like that.”

Felicity stared at him appraisingly for a long moment. He held his breath, not sure if he was hoping that she would or wouldn’t read between the lines. Felicity had such a kind heart that if she realized he was more than a little in love with her, she’d give him a chance and waste her time with him when she should be with someone like Palmer.  _She deserves better_ , was the mantra in his head as he worked to maintain a neutral expression.

“I appreciate that, Oliver, but he didn’t mean anything by it. Ray’s been my biggest cheerleader for years now. I think we’re both a little worried about not having each other around. I mean, as much as he’s helped me, I’ve also been the one to remind him to go shower or eat a sandwich every once in awhile, you know?” She chuckled dismissively, but Oliver wasn’t appeased by her attempt at humor. He didn’t want to hear about how much she and Palmer relied on each other, not when it was such a convenient opening for them to transition to  _more_. “It’s a lot of change in not a lot of time.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes at the much more sincere statement she sighed. He stepped closer, reaching a hand out to her shoulder. “I know we haven’t seen each other much this week,” he ignored how she shrank a little at the observation, “but is this really what you want? Moving out here?  _Change_?”

Without hesitation, Felicity nodded emphatically. “ _Definitely_. It’s just— You know, I still feel like I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m looking for an apartment here and transitioning out of my job and I don’t have any guarantees over here.”

“Hey. You have  _me_.” The uncertainty in her eyes gave way to gratitude and hope, but the moment was over when Felicity averted her gaze quickly. Oliver shook his head to refocus. “And Dig—Mr. President—already submitted your nomination so it’s just the confirmation, which is a lock.”

“Says you,” she muttered self-deprecatingly.

“Says everyone,” he countered. “I can’t wait until you’re here full-time.” The admission was more than he meant to give at that moment, but he had to say something to calm her doubts. He could at least try to play it off. “Thea’s been here a month, and once you are... All my favorite people in the same place.”

Reaching up to pull his hand off her shoulder, Felicity sent him a small smile. “Yeah, can’t wait until the  _family’s_  back together.” He froze at the emphasis, the little reminder that they were supposed to be keeping things friendly. Because, of course, Felicity had latched onto the shallow reading behind Thea’s constantly referring to her as a sister, especially when he'd done nothing to discourage it.

Oliver stood stock-still as Felicity squeezed his hand before retreating. He very deliberately didn’t take note of how good she smelled or how amazing she looked walking away from him. This act was getting harder and harder to keep up.

 

* * *

 

Felicity settled into her seat with a heavy sigh. The week had been productive at least. She’d submitted an application for an airy converted loft in Georgetown, just a few blocks from Sara’s (and Oliver’s). The inaugural ball had been a networking dream, a less-embarrassing-than-anticipated introduction to the people she’d be working closely with for the next four years. The president had submitted her nomination, along with others, on his first day, and now it was just a waiting game until the Senate confirmations.

And Oliver—

Well, there had definitely been a shift there. Her high hopes had been dashed pretty quickly that first night, and she tried to readjust, spending more time with the girls and getting her head and heart around the disappointment. She couldn’t miss something she’d never had, right?

Oliver hadn’t seemed too pleased by her distance, but she noticed the way he never argued with Thea calling her a long-lost  _sister_. Apparently, she’d been missing the hints that he wanted to keep things friendly— _sisterly_ , even. And once he equated having her around to having Thea around, well, she couldn’t miss that hint.

Once she moved, they’d be friends. The best of, even, but nothing more. And that was fine. She needed to focus on work anyway.

 

* * *

 

Mission accomplished. Sort of. Not really, at all, actually.

After seeing Felicity off in front of his building, Oliver retreated upstairs to his empty apartment. Felicity had only stayed a week, yet somehow her presence made his home feel more like home than in the two years he’d kept this apartment. Of course, that feeling hadn’t lasted long. The morning after the inaugural ball, she packed everything efficiently and took a small bag over to Sara’s for a girls’ sleepover.

Then, this morning, despite him having the day off, she insisted on calling a cab to the airport. He bit his tongue to hold in the protest and carried her suitcase down when the time came. Oliver didn’t know what to say, emotion clogging his throat, as she opened the door to the car.

Finally, he stopped her by laying a hand over hers where it rested on top of the car door. After a moment, Felicity turned back to him, her eyes shuttered and a stubborn set to her mouth. She jumped up for a hug—too brief, nothing at all like the one from when she arrived—then thanked him for his hospitality. The feeling of formality, finality almost, made his heart stutter to a stop, a trickle of cold sweat sliding down his back despite the frigid temperature.

Still, he asked her to text him when she landed, and Felicity’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile as she assured him that she would, once Ray picked her up.

Fuck, he screwed up  _everything_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, Felicity and Ray are BFFs after their short-lived relationship, and if he strikes the wrong tone here, it’s because I struggle with writing Ray despite enjoying him on Legends.


	8. Bird’s Eye View: Executive Secretary Thea Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea Queen: her mother’s daughter, younger sister, executive secretary, master manipulator, _fed up_.

 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Five minutes into their weekly call, and Thea couldn’t hold back the question any longer. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Ollie to be tight-lipped and reticent, especially after returning from his tours and despite his fumbling, but sincere and insistent, attempts to reestablish their relationship, but this was ridiculous. Sara and Tommy must be onto something.

“What are you talking about? Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Yes, there is,” she bulldozed over his standard denial, “You’re... morose.”

“Morose?”

“Morose. Glum. Down in the dumps. Why, yes, I did score higher than you on the SATs.” As usual, she didn’t resist the low blow. His grumbling wasn’t her imagination, and neither was his sigh before another denial.

“I’m fine.”

“Have you ever seen that meme about what girls really mean when they say “I’m fine”? It’s kind of misogynistic and annoying, but you’re doing a good impression.”

“Thea,” that was an  _impatient_  sigh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you don’t, you Luddite. That’s why it’s hilarious you’re so hung up on a woman who’s apparently like the Queen of Technology, pun intended.”

“Who have you been talking to? Sara? Tommy? Laurel?”

The panic—the sheer panic—in his voice was almost tangible through the phone line. Thea bit back the knowing smile despite him being unable to see it. She had tried to convince him to do video calls once upon a time but, as expected, Ollie had dismissed that idea after failing one too many times.

“Oh my god,  _all_ those people know, and this is the first I’m hearing about her from you? I’m offended, big brother. Why haven’t you said anything before?”

She genuinely wished for video capabilities now just to see the constipated look on his face when he bit out, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sure, there is. You having an honest-to-goodness crush for what I’m pretty sure is the first time in your life. If not in your life, then, like, since the sandbox. What’s your play here, Ollie? Damaged war hero who just needs the loving of a good woman? You’re doing the stoic, silent thing, right? You’ve gotten so good at that since you got back.” Or so she gathered from the women he’d dated since he got back. Body language alone told her that they were all interested and into it, while he was all stoic and aloof. Apparently, broody and tortured was something like catnip to a certain crowd.

“What? No! Stop. I’m not doing any of that. I’m not trying to... get in her pants.”

Thea could imagine the way his mouth twisted at the thought of discussing his  _dating_  life with his sister. Her own stomach felt like it filled with bile, but this was more important. Last time she’d spoken to Sara, her de facto older sister had emphasized “ _the one_ ” with such gravity that Thea forced an air of casualness into her voice before asking, “Well, why not? From what Sara says, you could do with a good lay.”

The taunt worked. His tone was decidedly more aggrieved when he responded with, “ _Jesus_. This conversation is  _not_  happening right now. I don’t need my little sister’s advice on how to get laid. I’m getting plenty of action.”

“ _Gross_.” She audibly gagged. And then shuddered. And then gagged again.

“You started it,” he complained, obviously pleased by grossing her out but conflicted by not wanting to have the conversation in the first place.

Classic Ollie distraction method, but she knew better than to buy it. “Wait, you said you weren’t trying to get into her pants so who are you— Oh come on, not that again. That’s disgusting. No one needs a replay of Ollie’s worst hits because you’re too  _morose_  to make a move on the woman you really want.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Well, good. I don’t want to talk to you when you’re like this anyway. I’ll get my updates from Tommy and Sara.”

She ended the call before he could, effectively getting the last word. It didn’t stop Ollie from texting her a warning to stay out of it. As if.

 

* * *

 

TQ, 10:11 AM: sara  
TQ, 10:11 AM: o captain my captain  
TQ, 10:11 AM: light of my life  
TQ, 10:12 AM: arbiter of taste  
TQ, 10:12 AM: connoisseur of beautiful women and men

SL, 10:13 AM: all true facts  
SL, 10:14 AM: whats up kid

TQ, 10:15 AM: whos the new guy? with the jawline?

SL, 10:16 AM: ah agent abercrombie

TQ, 10:16 AM: nice

SL, 10:17 AM: he hates it

TQ, 10:17 AM: makes sense

SL, 10:17 AM: roy harper  
SL, 10:18 AM: he’s from sc actually

TQ, 10:20 AM: yeah?

SL, 10:21 AM: the glades

TQ, 10:21 AM: ooooh

SL, 10:22 AM: since when are you into (reformed) bad boys?

TQ, 10:23 AM: since always  
TQ, 10:24 AM: or about fifteen minutes ago

SL, 10:27 AM: you and ollie switch personalities?

TQ, 10:31 AM: seriously  
TQ, 10:32 AM: this wasnt what i pictured when you described f as a “good girl”  
TQ, 10:34 AM: they should have been hooking up a week after she joined the campaign

SL, 10:41 AM: please  
SL, 10:42 AM: at this rate you and agent abercrombie will be married by the time they figure it out  
SL, 10:43 AM: you want an assist?

TQ, 10:48 AM: reformed bad boy in an office full of suits?  
TQ, 10:48 AM: i got this

SL, 11:06 AM: oh  
SL, 11:07 AM: one more thing  
SL, 11:07 AM: ollie is his supervisor

TQ, 11:10 AM: fuckkkkkkkk

SL, 11:11 AM: yep good luck

TQ, 11:45 AM: agent abercrombie walked by again  
TQ, 11:46 AM: challenge accepted

 

* * *

 

Agent Abercrombie followed her brother down the hall. As far as she could see, he’d been assigned not just as Ollie’s latest subordinate but also as his shadow. Thea returned Ollie’s quick wink with a roll of her eyes but ignored the newcomer.

Turning the corner, she paused just long enough to hear an unfamiliar voice ask, “Who’s  _that_?”

“No one!” was her brother’s half-growled answer.

This was going to be  _so_  easy.

 

* * *

 

The door to the Oval Office cracked open, and she looked up. Odd. Was the president done with his meeting with the senator already? It’d only been a few minutes. She prepared herself for the usual pleasantries, but no one emerged.

A moment later, the president’s voice, calm as always but with a deadly edge to it, filtered through the gap.

“Let me see if I understand, Senator. You requested this meeting, not on behalf of your constituents, but because you take issue with the Attorney General’s hiring decisions?”

“Mr. President, Ms. Lance is too inexperienced for the position. Not only that but she’s the Vice President’s daughter! Do you know what that looks like?”

There was the issue. Thea opened the program Felicity had installed on her desktop and quickly ran a few searches. Grabbing a notepad, she jotted a few notes while keeping one ear on the conversation.

“It looks like Vice President Lance has raised two, highly achieving daughters, or do you also take exception to his younger daughter being a Secret Service agent? Perhaps there’s someone more experienced who you would like to have shot in the line of duty?” The question was dripping with sarcasm, and Thea mentally applauded. “Ms. Lance was a district attorney in one of the first states to have legalized marijuana. Please explain to me how that makes her  _unqualified_  to be a part of a task force on the legalization of marijuana.”

“Sir, I didn’t say she was unqualified. I said she was inexperienced.”

After a few more scribbles, she ripped the paper off the pad and hunted for a folder. She knocked sharply on the door, and Ollie swung it open immediately before he was granted permission. The president stopped in the middle of gearing up to tear the senator a new one and looked up at her with a mild look of annoyance. Thea handed him the folder with a subtle tap to the loose sheet on top then sent him a wink. Once again, Ollie didn’t totally close the door behind her.

“Mr. President, I only meant to alert you to what could appear to the public as an alarming and improper amount of nepotism in this administration.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I am not going to micromanage every department in this government. The AG determined that she would like to hire Ms. Lance, and Ms. Lance accepted the offer. You couldn’t honestly expect that crying to the president about nepotism was going to get the position retroactively offered to your nephew.”

“ _Sir?_ ”

Thea snorted at the quake of pure terror in the senator’s voice. With a little more work on the president’s part, the cleaning crew was going to have  _a lot_  more work to do after this meeting. God, this idiot.

“Your nephew, the oil and gas attorney to whom you promised Ms. Lance’s position? Or am I thinking of another nephew? Are you honestly here exhorting me to fire a prosecutor familiar with marijuana legislation so your nephew, a landman with no prior experience in criminal law, can have a prestigious position on a drug task force in the Attorney General’s office?”

Crickets. Literal crickets. Thea didn’t know how Ollie or the president were keeping a straight face.

“Senator, this government doesn’t exist to do your family favors. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, or does your nephew take precedence over the nation’s security?”

The senator all but ran out of the office, and the president followed him out to her desk. He raised a solitary eyebrow at her, but Thea just shrugged. “That? Is what you hired me for, by the way.”

“No, it wasn’t,” the president countered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Then consider it a fringe benefit. You’re going to be late to the situation room.”

 

* * *

 

“What is  _that_?”

Thea remembered too late to try to keep the judgment out of her voice, and Felicity responded with a slight flush but a defensive narrowing of her eyes.

When Felicity showed up at the nail salon in pink sneakers, grey skinny jeans, a black sweater, minimal makeup, and a somewhat messier than usual ponytail, Thea figured that was it. Casual Felicity Smoak was just a slightly less put-together version of Director Felicity Smoak. Then the day warmed up, and once they were seated for brunch, Felicity shed her sweater to reveal a tank top with—actually, Thea wasn’t sure what.

“I mean,” she attempted to recover, “well, I do mean, what’s that? But, you know, less bitchy.”

Felicity acknowledged the implied apology with a nod before sitting up and pulling on the hem to straighten out the design. “It’s a TARDIS, short for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Basically a ship that travels through time and space and is stuck camouflaged as an old call box. From the British sci-fi show Doctor Who. It’s one of my favorite shows, especially now that there’s a female doctor. About time, if you ask me.”

Her confusion had to be obvious because Sara leaned across the table to roll her eyes. “Don’t get her started. That show is convoluted and older than all of us put together. Ollie’s been watching it with her for, like, half a year now, and he’s still confused.”

“No, it’s not, and, no, he’s not. Oliver’s so smart. He’s always predicting the Doctor’s solutions to the mystery of the week,” Felicity jumped back in defensively.

“Yes, he is,” Dinah retorted. “He’s just a good strategist-slash-guesser. Do you know how many times I’ve heard him asking Curtis to explain the plot  _again_? I think even I’m starting to understand why all the rabid fanboys are upset about another reincarnation.”

“Well—” Felicity cut herself off, as if realizing that nothing good could come of whatever defense she tried to used. “Do you want to watch it with us?” she offered excitedly, “Oliver usually cooks dinner, and I provide the wine. I promise I’ll explain it all to you. And Oliver can help! Since he understands the show, and apparently I’m not always very clear.”

Uh,  _no_. Hard pass. The last thing she wanted to do was third-wheel her brother’s pseudo-dates. There wasn’t really a polite, subtle way of saying that, though, so she floundered while Sara and Dinah snickered quietly. She’d bet her family’s lost fortune that the two of them had already experienced this attempt at inclusion and failed to enjoy the adventure based on Felicity’s disgruntled response to their laughing.

Lucky for her, their waiter appeared, drawing the attention away. As the waiter ran through the specials, she sat back, contemplating the new-to-her information. Ollie, who never cared a lick about pop culture before the Army and who seemingly developed an allergy to TV during the Army, had been watching some science fiction show? One he didn’t even understand? Granted, there was an easy explanation for why he didn’t follow the show’s plot. Obviously, he was too preoccupied watching Felicity to pay attention to the show itself.

_Half a year_ , this had been happening. 

Thea didn’t think it was possible, but apparently everyone had been  _downplaying_  how gone they were for each other. Felicity took oblivious to a whole new level—only the truly smitten would call her brother “so smart”—while Ollie seemed to be holding Felicity up as some unattainable ideal—why else would he be spending so much time doing things she loved without actually pursuing her?

No matter. Their ridiculousness stopped now. She didn’t care how much meddling she had to do. This nerdy, good-hearted genius would marry her oafish, equally good-hearted big brother if it killed her.

Thea couldn’t predict how much it felt like the exasperation really would kill her some days.

 


	9. Bird’s Eye View: Nyssa al Ghul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heir to the Demon goes to the White House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the last scene? I found it funny.

As she had neither desire nor orders to harm _this_ president, Nyssa contented herself with observation.

Her beloved certainly chose strange allies. On the whole, the women—specifically Laurel Lance, attorney at law, Felicity Smoak, MIT Class of 09, and Lyla Michaels Diggle, former director of ARGUS—were more educated than the men. And where they weren’t, they made up for it in cunning. Both Press Secretary Dinah Drake and Executive Secretary Thea Queen had an air of resourcefulness to them. 

The men seemed to have more heart than brains, although she’d been assured that President John Diggle and Agent Oliver Queen were both excellent strategists. At the moment, she could only focus on the latter’s quite obvious, woman-shaped weakness. Even while off duty, Agent Queen ostensibly protected his president, but on closer inspection, his attention also diverted to another.

Nyssa could hardly blame him. After all, she shared a similar, quite obvious, woman-shaped weakness. Speaking of...

“Stop that,” Sara chided as she approached.

She raised an eyebrow, but her beloved responded with an eye roll. “Stop casing the joint, I mean. This isn’t a job. You’re here as my _date_.”

“I have every intention of enjoying our night together, beloved. I was merely... people watching to pass the time until your return.”

“Oh? And what have you learned?”

“Your friends are... interesting.” She thought she’d been diplomatic in her answer, yet Sara still smiled knowingly. “Agent Queen and Director Smoak are in love, are they not? And yet they are not, as you would say, together?”

“You know, when a woman who refers to herself as the Heir to the Demon can see it, but you’re still in denial...” Sara trailed off then, and she raised a questioning eyebrow. “Never mind. You’re right on both counts, love, as always.”

“Do their families disapprove?” she asked next. Involuntarily, her fists clenched as she thought of her own father’s reaction. Her spirits restored as she reminded herself of how hastily Sara’s family had overcome their shock to express their unconditional support.

“No, that’s not it. Their families are, well, mainly dead or out of the picture, but the ones still around, they would approve. Sometimes things aren’t black and white. People can make things more complicated than they really need to be.”

Nyssa narrowed her eyes at that insufficient excuse. “I have faced death to be with you.”

“I know. It’s not that either. I mean, it’s kind of in Ollie’s job description, but I’m pretty sure they’d protect each other with their lives.”

“No.” She shook her head to convey she wasn’t arguing with Sara’s assessment of the depth of her friends’ affections but clarifying. “Yes, I would give my life for yours, but I would also choose death than to be without you. A life without your love would be a half-life, one not worth living. I do not understand how they so clearly feel for one another and yet choose to suffer alone.”

Rare was the occasion that Nyssa was surprised, but also rare was the occasion that her beloved leapt into her arms for a stunningly emotional kiss. Especially in a circumstance where she’d been advised to maintain the utmost decorum and inconspicuousness. Sara, apparently, had not received the same warning, or chose to ignore it.

“Well,” she muttered when they separated, uncommonly at a loss—for words, for _thought_. Her hands hung limply until Sara reached for them.

“I love you, too,” her beloved rightly beamed at her.

 

* * *

 

“Director Smoak, MIT Class of 09.” She inclined her head subtly in their now traditional greeting. 

As expected, Felicity jumped in surprise before her lips turned up in amusement. “Nyssa al Ghul, Heir to the Demon,” she returned before humming speculatively, “Or do you no longer prefer that title?”

Nyssa paused at the unexpected question. Of course, her beloved had not kept tight-lipped about her recent contemplations. For all the secrets Sara protected, she was very forthright in her concern for her loved ones.

“You are a self-made woman,” she remarked without answering the question.

“Uh, sure,” Felicity answered. A brief moment where Felicity almost visibly steeled her resolve, then, “I mean, _yes_ , I am. Why do you ask? Well, you didn’t ask exactly, but I’m guessing you’re going somewhere with this?”

“President Diggle appointed you,” Nyssa continued after her agreement, “If another president were to come into office, would you serve him as well?”

“That depends. Probably way more than you want to know, but I was never heavily involved in politics before this. I only agreed because I believe in the president, believe he’s going to do good and lead this country well. If he’s not reelected and, for some reason, I’m asked to stay on, I wouldn’t just say yes. It would depend on who the new president is and if I believe in him or her like I do President Diggle. I wouldn’t blindly follow the title, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sara held a similar idea of fealty. Her allegiance lay not with the government or the titles but with the _people_. Comparatively, Nyssa had pledged her loyalty to Ra’s al Ghul, not only her father at the moment but also whoever else might bear that name in the future.

Yet since her father was refusing to acknowledge Talia’s and her own claim to the title, she was reevaluating that unbending loyalty.

“Your insight is appreciated.” Nyssa nodded her acknowledgement before departing Director Smoak’s office. Deliberately, she ignored the other woman’s mutterings of “ _Strange_.”

 

* * *

 

“On your left!”

The exclamation was sudden, and Nyssa looked up to find the workers scattering to create a path. She herself was already leaning against a wall, inconspicuously blended into her surroundings as always. Not until she spotted the intruder did she move into the warpath, as it were.

“Nys!”

Crouching, she caught the miniature human and swung her into her arms. Baby Sara giggled heartily as she wrapped her still-unwieldy arms around her neck. A moment later, her beloved appeared, a look of gratitude and relief replacing her previously pinched expression.

“Thanks, babe. She’s getting quick. Never thought I’d be literally wrangling a child at this gig.”

To her amusement, her beloved appeared mildly out of breath from giving chase to the escapee.

“That’s not funny!” Sara scolded the child, even as she reached out to tickle her sides, “You could have been hurt.”

“Found Nys!” Baby Sara exclaimed proudly as if that excused all misbehavior and cuddled into her side. She hid from Sara’s further reprimands by burying her face against her neck.

Nyssa almost smiled, a hand coming up to smooth through the dark curls. “She’s quite resourceful. Takes after her namesake.”

“There’s a scary thought,” Sara scoffed, leading them back down the hall towards the first lady’s office.

 

* * *

 

In a well-positioned corner seat, Nyssa easily observed the conversation at the women’s table. They were in Alexandria, at a new restaurant Thea had chosen for the group lunch. Taking advantage of the unseasonably warm day, they had elected to sit outside and separated into tables of men and women to accommodate the narrow patio section. As such, her fellow occupants felt a particular freedom to question Felicity about recent developments.

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_. Hold your horses. I wouldn’t go that far.”

During her enthusiastic denial, Felicity had carelessly set down her wine glass. The red liquid sloshed against its glass prison precariously, and she reached out a hand to steady it. Only Sara noticed the subtle movement, the rest too busy reacting to Felicity’s statement with barely concealed frustration.

“What are you talking about?”

“How far would you go?”

“What are you two even _doing_?”

Felicity looked taken aback by the vehemence of the responses, and her tone was cautious as she answered, “Spending time with each other and seeing where this goes?”

“You were spending time with each other as best friends,” Laurel, ever the logical one, pointed out, “Please tell me that’s evolved in the last month.”

“Of course it has. Last month we weren’t—”

“Little sister, just a friendly reminder.” The interjection came from Thea, whose hands were poised to cover her ears lest she disapprove of how Felicity finished her sentence.

“—uh, intimately acquainted?”

The youngest of the group grimaced but lowered her hands. “Weird but not terrible. Continue.”

“I mean, we’ve both said _things_. About being held back by insecurities and doubts and letting them get in the way of... whatever this is. But we never used, you know, the L word.”

Nyssa frowned. Sara had made her watch a television show of that title, but obviously the term had a different meaning in this context. Or so she was assuming.

This time, Thea dropped her head into her hands, pulling slightly at her hair as she straightened up with a dramatic groan. “Are you guys secretly conducting an experiment to see if you can literally make my head explode with frustration?”

“Look. It took us this long to get to where we are. I’m not going to pressure Oliver into saying something he doesn’t mean or feel, just because you all are impatient and nosy.”

The group responded with disbelieving exclamations, but Sara shushed them. “I’m just going to say it. We’re in Virginia, which is technically the South. The term is _y’all_.”

“ _Sara!_ ”

The frustrated exclamation en masse had her beloved rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, focusing. Alright, you and Oliver are no longer in charge of your own destinies.”

Felicity’s eyebrows rose as she asked, “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re officially planning your engagement, your wedding, hell, your kids. You just need to show up because some of us want to see this relationship—yes, you are in a _relationship_ —progress before Baby Sara starts dating. I get it, okay? A month isn’t that long, but you guys have been sitting on this thing for years. It’s been so obvious. How have you not exchanged I love you’s?”

Abruptly, Nyssa stood, unappreciative that her chair announced such action by unpleasantly scraping against the floor. Everyone’s attention turned to her in confusion since, as usual, she hadn’t uttered a word so far. She still wouldn’t. Reaching down, she coaxed Felicity into standing by pulling on her ear.

“Ow, ow, _ow_ ,” the other woman complained. Unnecessarily in her opinion. Nyssa was well aware of her own strength, and not even a modicum of it was currently being used.

“Babe, what the hell?” Sara’s voice was full of alarm, reflecting the surprised and concerned expressions of the rest of the table. Her beloved had also been quick to her feet and was now reaching her hands out to pull Felicity away.

“Do not fret, beloved. I do not harm my friends.” Nyssa ignored Felicity’s incredulous question of, “We’re _friends_?” “I have witnessed parents employ this method of persuasion on their children without any lasting harm. I merely tire of this miscommunication and seek to resolve it efficiently.”

Sara recoiled and dropped her arms, her expression contorting in confusion. Nyssa used the opportunity to direct Felicity to what had been designated “the boys’ table”. Noticing their approach, Oliver jumped up in alarm, a hand moving to his weapon, while Roy, more inelegantly, spat out his beer with a disbelieving, “What the _fuck_ , Nyssa?” The other men froze in shock and indecision, and she paid them no mind.

“Nyssa, let’s talk about this,” Felicity implored in a soothing tone.

“That is my intention,” she agreed easily. The rest of the women had joined them, but no one dared interfere. “Stand down, Oliver Queen. I intend your beloved no harm.”

Rightfully, he didn’t relax, and she nodded approvingly before continuing.

“I come to resolve an issue of unnecessary confusion. I assumed it evident to everyone, but apparently not all are so enlightened. Oliver, you are in love with Felicity, yes?”

The man in question lost some of his rigidity and alertness, his face flushed, his arm fell limply away from his weapon, and he appeared suddenly... bashful.

“Uh, babe,” Sara interrupted from the side of her not occupied by a squirming and indignant government official, “I think Ollie’s and Felicity’s feelings are a private matter.”

“Nonsense,” she disagreed, “Their feelings have been public since I made their acquaintance.”

Felicity made a gasping noise even though she had not interfered with her air supply, while Oliver began to imitate a fish. Others choked back what could have been laughter.

“Well, you see, I—”

Rolling her eyes at his stuttering, she pulled lightly on Felicity’s ear, the other woman discontentedly grumbling in reaction. Oliver cut off his stuttering to glare reproachfully at her. Then he lowered his eyes to Felicity, as if to have a silent conversation, and she was certain they were devising an escape.

“I shall not release her until you answer the question.” Nyssa paired the statement with what Sara once called her “imperiously raised eyebrow move designed to ensure capitulation and subservience”.

“Yes,” he bit out then softened when he focused on Felicity. “I love you, Felicity. I’m _in_ love with you. Have been for a lot longer than I realized apparently.”

Nyssa had released Felicity’s ear after his initial answer, leaving her free to rush into his arms by the end of his little speech. Felicity murmured her own returned affections, and the party quickly initiated other conversations to distract from the spectacle of the amorous couple. Nodding with a strange sense of satisfaction, she turned to find Sara eying her contemplatively.

“You know, it’s kind of hot when you use your powers for good.”

“I love you, too, Sara.”

 


	10. Cordial Invitation: The Second Inauguration of John Diggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Presidential Inaugural Committee requests the honor of your presence to attend and participate in the inauguration of John T. Diggle as President of the United States of America and Quentin L. Lance as Vice President of the United States of America on Wednesday, the twentieth of January, two thousand and twenty-one in the City of Washington.

 

 

“Oliver, will you calm down?” The constant drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel then the gear stick and back to the steering wheel,  _ad nauseum_ , was starting to make her twitchy.

“We’re going to be late.”

“It’s inauguration night.  _Everyone_  is going to be late,” she reminded him with a pointed look. He snorted a little at the reminder of his perpetual tardiness that even the military couldn’t entirely cure. “I know you’re used to being in the motorcade and  _causing_  these road blocks, but this is what the general population gets to deal with.”

With a sigh, Oliver threw the car into park, silently admitting that the stream of red brake lights in front of them wasn’t going anywhere. After a moment of silence, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye then turned more in his seat. The subtle twitch of his fingers indicated he felt some sort of nervousness, but she couldn’t guess what for.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it before,” he began, his tone weighted and serious. ”I was a little distracted”—she scoffed at that because Oliver had all but herded her into the car—“but you look beautiful.”

Felicity smiled then, reaching a hand over the console to scratch through his scruff. “Back atcha. I mean, not  _beautiful_  per se, but handsome. Suspenders are always a good look on you. I certainly appreciated the view last time we were at this shindig.”

Oliver hummed questioningly with a teasing lift to his eyebrow. “You were gorgeous then, too.”

“Oh?” The word dripped with skepticism. “Four years may have clouded my memory, but I remember you only having eyes for  _Ray_  last time.”

Oliver groaned and dropped his head back against the head rest. She would bet that even if they hadn’t been surrounded by a sea of glowing red brake lights, Oliver’s face would still be tinged red with embarrassment.

“Trust me, I noticed you. I’ve  _always_  noticed you,” he insisted gruffly. His low tone had her shifting in her seat. “I’m just not great at multitasking sometimes.”

“Ah, yes, my own personal Tinkerbell,” she agreed with a smile, one that widened when he gave her a sidelong look. “You know, capable of only one emotion at a time? In that case, jealousy.  _Unfounded_  jealousy, at that.”

“Like you were any better,” Oliver retorted in a grumble, “You were just as oblivious and in denial as I was.”

“What’d you expect?” she laughed. Also, she couldn’t believe they could actually laugh about misunderstandings like that now. “You called me your best friend. Then Thea kept going on about how I felt like a sister to her, and you were all stoic and silent about it.”

“She meant sister- _in-law_ ,” Oliver corrected with a disbelieving head shake. “I wanted to gag her smart mouth for that one.  _I_  have definitely never thought of you like a sister.”

“Well, I know that  _now_ ,” Felicity scoffed, “but back then, all I could focus on were my ruined fantasies.” Oliver repeated the last word with an interested lilt, and she smirked right back. “You know, about how you would greet me at the airport with a passionate kiss because you just couldn’t help yourself when you saw me again. Or once everyone left after dinner, we’d have a water fight doing the dishes then you would declare your undying love and carry me off to bed. Or I’d have a nightmare about embarrassing myself at the inaugural ball and crawl into your bed for comfort and bam!”

“Bam?” he questioned, a slow smile stretching across his face.

“ _Bam_ ,” Felicity confirmed seriously, emphatically. “They all ended in  _bam_. I was hoping for just about any of the good, old-fashioned, friends-to-lovers clichés to happen.”

“You have no idea how close I was to making  _all_  of those happen,” Oliver muttered, his voice weighed down by the memories of lost opportunities. “You’re pretty damn irresistible.”

“I’d call bull on that if our first kiss, when you apparently just couldn’t help yourself any longer, hadn’t been so well-documented. By a bunch of teenagers on Instagram, no less.”

“I  _couldn’t_  help myself,” he defended, “I felt like it was kiss you or suffocate in my empty life.”

Unimpressed, Felicity shook her head. “Well, if those were your options, no wonder you kissed me.”

“Not my best wording,” Oliver groaned, “but come on, you know you brought me back to life. I forgot what living—the bad, the good, the amazing sex—felt like until you.”

“Nice recovery,” Felicity smiled. She leaned across the center console to peck his lips, not expecting for his hand to slide onto the back of her neck and hold her there for a much longer kiss. Trust her, she had zero complaints about it. “Not to ruin the moment, but my hair.”

The sleek updo had taken her longer than anticipated to master, hence why they were running late in the first place. Not that the fifteen minutes mattered much when traffic was this hellish. Oliver, though, carefully untangled his fingers, deliberately caressing her neck as he did so. Despite the obviousness of his ploy, she shuddered and pitched forward again for another deep kiss.

“Why don’t we go home and really mess up your hair acting out some of those fantasies?”

“Oliver, we can’t skip the inaugural ball.” Her words were undercut by her full body shiver when he purposefully placed a hand on her thigh. She reached down to cover his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, discouraging him from roaming any further.

“Why not?” Oliver all but whined, “We’ve already been to one. Pretty sure it’ll be about the same as four years ago. It’s not like John’s going to declare a civil war this time around.”

“Tempting,” her free hand crawled under his tux jacket to tug at a suspender, “ _So_  tempting. But I’m not losing another betting pool to them. I overheard Sara and Curtis taking bets on whether we’d show up tonight or “get distracted”.”

The reminder earned her his reluctant agreement. He also didn’t hold back the annoyed eye roll. Oliver hated their friends making sport, as good-natured and arguably  _earned_  as it was, out of their relationship as much as she did.

“ _After_ ,” Felicity breathed the promise, “you, Agent Queen, are going to have your world rocked by your suddenly no-longer-platonic best friend.”

“Yeah?” he grinned, “Are you going to order me to take my pants off again so you can  _rehab my knee_?”

She nodded her enthusiastic agreement. Good to know she wasn’t the only one having fantasies back on the first campaign trail. That Oliver remembered such a mundane, yet embarrassingly memorable for her, day out of the months she’d spent helping with his knee was an unexpected surprise. It shouldn’t have been, though, since his memory’s capacity when it came to her—and all the boring, inconsequential things she did—had long ago proven infinite.

“Yep, tonight’s going to be a  _long, hard_  session. After all, we need to test your  _endurance_ ,” Felicity bit her lip at his stifled moan, “But right now? I want you— No, I’m  _ordering_  you to... put the car in drive.”

Her flat finish abruptly broke the mood, and Oliver sent her a dirty look that almost made her laugh. But she was right, and traffic was starting to move. One by one, the cars in front of them released their brakes, the red lights flickering off.

Oliver reluctantly took his hand off her leg and put the car back into gear before reaching for her hand this time. He raised it to his lips, pressed a smiling kiss to the ring he’d placed there, and focused on the road. Felicity intertwined her fingers with his and sighed contently, marveling at how far they’d come since the last inauguration.

 


	11. Bird’s Eye View: Tommy Merlyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOMMYYYYYYYYYY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. *handwave legal and military and medical things like we do government things in this verse* (I mean, not as bad as 6.21 but still.)  
> 2\. I’ve started compiling the original story and these additions into chronological order, and it’s occurred to me that this verse has spun entirely out of control.  
> 3\. Well, that season finale was unideal on so many levels.

 

“Buddy, are you sure about this?”

Tommy sounded as apprehensive as he felt. Oliver being gone wasn’t anything new. That didn’t mean it was a good idea.

After Robert’s and Moira’s untimely deaths, Oliver was granted only a few days of emergency leave, most of which got eaten up by travel. It had been the first time he saw his best friend in his formal military uniform, and the time he realized the Queens never would. Stiff, emotionless Oliver stood on the other side of Thea during the service, and the teenage girl was so removed from her older brother by that point that she chose Tommy’s shoulder to cry on.

Oliver left again less than 48 hours later. A hastily signed, and dubiously legal, napkin transferring Oliver’s duties as executor of his parents’ will and guardian of Thea to Tommy was the only evidence he’d even made the trip. Without any leadership, Queen Consolidated crumpled almost overnight, and without her parents and brother, so did Thea.

Tommy was the one to watch as QC was chopped into pieces and sold off to the highest bidder, Merlyn Global being one of those buyers, until all that was left were Oliver’s and Thea’s personal trusts. He was the one to work with the lawyers to postpone the foreclosure of the Queen family home, to find Thea a new place to live, to keep Raisa on as her daily caretaker—and really the only person around who could hope to rein her in. He was the one left angry and confused, second only to Thea, when Oliver’s training and deployment ended but he volunteered for another and yet another instead of coming home.

Finally, he was the only one waiting at the airport last month on the long-awaited day Oliver finally deigned to return to them. He hadn’t felt comfortable asking Laurel, not when she and Oliver parted on such bad terms with the whole Oliver-and-Sara debacle and not when they’d barely been in contact in the years he'd been away. Thea had locked herself in her room, and he’d asked Raisa to stay and keep an eye on her, both wary of her growing drug use.

Tommy had no one but himself to blame for that one. Thea was probably too young to remember Oliver’s dabbles in that world, but she certainly remembered his spiraling after his dear old Dad’s arrest last year. Not that he was an upstanding citizen before then, but Tommy thought he had enough self-worth to keep “drug addict” off his resumé while legally responsible for a minor. Only the responsibility he felt for Thea convinced him to accept Jessica Danforth’s hand out/up to work for her and straighten out/up when it came. Still, Thea was hell-bent on following in his footsteps instead of taking his experience as a cautionary tale.

Instead of the joyous occasion it should have been, the reunion with his best friend was full of barely suppressed rage, resentment, and blame. Thankfully, Oliver was still dressed in his uniform. Tommy might not have otherwise remembered what a monumentally bad idea it was to punch an honorably discharged Army Ranger in the face.

The last month had been tense, to say the least. Oliver barely knew how to function like a human being anymore, and Thea wasn’t accepting any of the stilted overtures he was making to mend their relationship. She’d started trying to pit Tommy and Raisa against Oliver in some messed up version of playing divorced parents against each other. Not until they sat her down for a thorough talking-to did Thea finally cut out the snide remarks and mind games and settle for awkward silence.

They’d just been finding their groove—their mismatched family of two quasi-brothers, their little sister, and the kind housekeeper who was more mother than employee—when Oliver decided to drop this bombshell on them. Tommy wasn’t an expert on happy families or anything but he was pretty sure leaving to join the Secret Service after years of military tours was not going to help Thea’s abandonment issues. 

“What the  _fuck_?”

Thea’s reaction was much less tempered than his skepticism. Even Raisa must have been shocked because she didn’t bother to scold Thea for her language as usual. After recovering, Oliver reached out for her, but Thea bolted for the front door.

“You just got back and now you’re going to leave  _again_? You know what? Fine. Go! I don’t care. I don’t need you. Fuck off, Ollie.”

Thea disappeared in a whirlwind of brown curls and gangly limbs. Tommy sat flabbergasted for a moment before shooting to his feet. “Did she take her car keys? Driving will violate her parole,” he mumbled while rummaging through the entry table. God, the things twenty-year-old Tommy never thought he’d have to care or worry about.

“Mister Tommy,” Raisa’s lightly accented voice broke through his panic, and he spun to face her. “Miss Thea’s keys are still in the safe.”

“Right,” Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. Good thing she never picked up how to hotwire a car. He’d probably need to low-jack her phone to find her in a few hours once she cooled off, but at least that was one less thing to worry about in the moment. There were other important things at hand.

“Oliver, man, this is going to wreck Thea.”

He shook his head in denial. “She’s strong, stronger than I am. Thea’s right. She doesn’t need me. You heard her. She doesn’t even  _want_  me around.”

“Just because she  _can_  bear it doesn’t mean she should have to. You didn’t see how she made herself sick with worry after you first left. When your parents died, I think the only thing holding her together was knowing that you’d be coming home soon. But you didn’t, and she just... Raisa and I are doing the best we can, Ollie, but we aren’t  _you_. And in a few months, it won’t matter anyway. Not even the courts will let us tell her what to do.”

Oliver sighed before asking Raisa, who was not-so-subtly nodding in agreement, to give them the room. “I can’t stay here, Tommy. I don’t belong here anymore.”

“You don’t belong here?  _Here?_  In your home with your family?” he questioned incredulously.

Tommy had no idea what was going through Oliver’s head these days. The guy hadn’t even reacted to the loss of his childhood home, completely stone-faced when Tommy pulled up to their new residence. Even now, Oliver moved stiffly, overly cautious, in the townhouse he’d remotely consented to Tommy buying with part of his trust fund years ago. Of course, neither suspected that Malcolm had been losing his mind this entire time and that Tommy would fully move in, too, after his father’s incarceration and Merlyn Global’s collapse.

“This isn’t  _home_  anymore,” Oliver grumbled. Okay, maybe he did miss the mansion. “You and Thea have a good relationship. My being here is just screwing it all up.”

“And running away is going to solve the problems you two have?” Tommy could barely hold himself back from yelling. “You are the only family she has left. And, I’m just going to put it out there, but she’s the only family  _you_ have left, too. You need to be here for her, for each other. Thea’s not the cops, okay? You can’t outrun her and make the problem go away.”

“I know that! But I am dying here, Tommy. If I stay I’m just going to revert to the asshole I was in high school and college, and then what kind of example will I be for Thea? At least this job will give me a sense of purpose again. I can’t live my life for her.”

“But I can?” he questioned harshly. “I have put my life on hold for  _years_  to help with Thea. I’ve even”—Tommy stopped himself because it wouldn’t do any good to bring up Laurel now—“Now you’re back and you’re just going to leave us in the lurch again? You really think you’re going to find the meaning of life playing guard dog for some career politician who’s probably corrupt as hell? I honestly don’t care if you do or don’t. This isn’t about you. This is about a seventeen-year-old girl who has felt abandoned since she was orphaned at fourteen so stop being a selfish prick and fucking get it together!”

Tommy didn’t bother to wait for Oliver’s reaction but stormed out of the house, following in Thea’s footsteps.

 

* * *

 

He leaned against the hallway outside Thea’s room where she was not-so-quietly ripping Oliver a new one. Good, he deserved it. Selfish dick.

Tommy shook his head to clear the bad thoughts. To no one’s surprise, war had fucked up Oliver. It wasn’t his fault—it wasn’t anyone’s fault—and piling on him wasn’t going to help anything. Just... Would it kill the guy to acknowledge that they’d had a rough time, too? Were still having a rough time that he was about to make a lot worse by leaving.

They loved him and they were his family. As difficult and awkward as the transition was, there wasn’t a world where they’d be better off without him. No matter what angry, defensive, and,  _shudder_ , teenage-hormone-afflicted Thea might say. Tommy had no idea how to get that through Oliver’s thick skull, though. 

Great, now Thea was crying. Loud sobs that probably wracked her whole body, like the day they heard Oliver wasn’t coming home for another nine months. He could just imagine the horrified look on Oliver’s face as he tried to figure out what, if anything, he could do to make her stop. As someone who’d already been there, Tommy was intimately familiar with the helplessness.

Tommy stayed haunting the hallway while Thea eventually settled. Her conversation with Oliver continued at much more subdued levels for awhile until the door eased open silently. Oliver emerged looking wrung out, easily ten times worse than the day he landed. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find Tommy standing there and acknowledged him with a stiff nod.

“I’m staying,” he revealed once he’d closed Thea's door behind him.

“Good,” Tommy nodded absently.

This was awkward. Save for the period after his mother’s death, his and Oliver’s friendship was built on good times of hitting on women and burning through money. Unlike his relationship with Thea, which strengthened with each hardship—her parents’ death, his father’s arrest, the loss of the lives they’d known, Oliver’s self-inflicted absence through it all—they’d faced, he and Oliver didn’t do  _serious_. Tommy didn’t know how to apologize for his earlier blowup and he also didn’t really think it warranted an apology if Oliver was looking for one.

“Not forever. Just for awhile. Until things are more settled,” Oliver finally continued once it was clear Tommy wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Well that’s something at least,” he muttered. They could use the time to help Oliver adjust back into society. Whatever he’d been through had changed him permanently, and he seemed incapable of accepting that they still loved him and wanted him around for  _him_ , not his skills as a soldier. “But you should never feel like you have to leave. This  _is_  your home.”

“You were wrong earlier,” Oliver offered, ignoring Tommy’s heartfelt sentiment and the eyebrows he raised in offense. “Thea’s not the only family I have left. You’ve always been my brother. Thanks for being Thea’s and taking care of her.”

Tommy grinned at the almost apology, reaching across the hall to pull a reluctant and grumbling Oliver into a hug. Well, maybe there was hope for the big guy yet.

 

* * *

 

And the trip started off so well.

Tommy was surprised to see Oliver and Felicity waiting for him in the main terminal. As usual, Oliver was quietly content to be in Felicity’s presence while she bounced excitedly on her feet. Thea was right. They were a good match, a good balance. He was tempted to snap a pic and send it to her, but they noticed his approach.

Jokingly, Tommy commented on receiving the royal treatment, since Oliver usually met him curbside if he even had the time to pick him up. Felicity’s forehead scrunched up in confusion as she voiced that she thought Oliver always met his friends in the terminal. Oh,  _really_?

His best friend’s death glare went unheeded. He made a production of saying how there’s a first time for everything until Oliver cuffed him in the back of the head. In response, he sent Oliver an exasperated look. Eventually, Felicity would figure out that Oliver treated her nothing like his other friends.

The pipe dream of a couple lead the way towards baggage claim, and he took the opportunity to photograph them walking with Felicity’s arm hooked through Oliver’s, his stride shortened to accommodate hers. Quickly, he sent it off to the group text with the now-standard caption of, “WHY ARENT THEY DATING AGAIN?”

The usual flurry of commiseration and agreement came through on his phone. Almost simultaneously, causing a bit of confusion, Oliver’s phone rang with a call from Dinah. She’d gotten a heads up from an old friend in dispatch. The ten-car pile-up on the beltway they’d heard about on the way to the airport?

Thea Queen was one of the drivers.

Now they sat in an ER waiting room with throngs of other concerned families. An unusually affectionate Laurel was tucked into his side, leaning over the inconvenient armrest, while Felicity mimicked the position against Oliver. Sara and Nyssa were oddly identical: ramrod straight in their chairs, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the toddler throwing a temper tantrum on the other side of the room. Roy, poor Roy, was still stuck on shift at the White House.

“Family of Thea Queen?”

Their corner of the waiting room shot to their feet but allowed Oliver to step forward, Tommy on his heels and Felicity unexpectedly pulled along by the hand.

“She’s fine overall. Some cuts and bruises, no concussion. You can see her now.” When they surged forward, the doctor held up a hand and sent them a disbelieving look. “A few at a time please. We’re a little crowded tonight.”

“Go ahead,” Felicity encouraged, pushing them forward to follow the doctor back. “We’ll wait here.”

Tommy practically raced Oliver down the hall. They squeezed through the doorway with enough speed that Thea scoffed and rolled her eyes at their dramatic entrance. Yeah, she was going to be fine.

To their relief, Thea really was just a little banged up. She’d been saved from the worst of it by her car being towards the front and miraculously pushed out of the way while the destruction continued behind her. Mainly, she was upset at being taken to the hospital in the first place, since there were others more in need of immediate assistance.

And to Thea’s relief, he and Oliver didn’t have much time to fuss over her before a nurse interrupted, “Your friends volunteered to donate blood to help with the shortage tonight. If either of you would like to, I can show you where they are.” Tommy followed him out, but something about Oliver’s travel history during his service prevented him from the good deed.

When he got back to the room, Felicity in tow, Thea’s spirits had buoyed, and the siblings were chatting animatedly. An impressive feat given Oliver’s typical broodiness.

“So, Tommy, what’s your type?” Thea’s eyebrows waggled at him from under the gauze bandage taped to her forehead.

“B,” he responded, eyebrows waggling right back, “for brunettes.”

“Or, you know, blondes,” Felicity pointed out logically, “Maybe don’t try that line on Laurel.”

Oliver chuckled quietly while Thea let out a full-fledged laugh. “Well, at least we match,” she offered. “Now I know who to go to for a kidney, since Ollie’s useless to me.”

They traded more quips ragging on Oliver as, one by one, the rest of their friends snuck into Thea’s room. At least until a nurse showed up with discharge papers to kick them all out.

 

* * *

 

TM, 2:44 PM: just a reminder my father is a sociopath who tried to defraud an entire city

OQ, 3:01 PM: What’s that supposed to mean?

TM, 3:05 PM: we dont have to tell her

OQ, 3:06 PM: You know we do  
OQ, 3:07 PM: I promised to always be honest with her  
OQ, 3:07 PM: So did you

TM, 3:12 PM: this isnt exactly the circumstance i had in mind for that promise

OQ, 3:19 PM: You’ve always been our brother  
OQ, 3:20 PM: This just makes it official

TM, 3:20 PM: technically im officially related to just thea  
TM, 3:21 PM: not you

OQ, 3:25 PM: It’s called a gesture, you dick

TM, 3:27 PM: id call you an SOB but i dont want to insult my sisters mother

OQ, 3:28 PM: Stop  
OQ, 3:28 PM: It’s like you’re not even trying

TM, 3:32 PM: my heart isnt exactly in it  
TM, 3:32 PM: damn felicity smoak

OQ, 3:36 PM: You don’t mean that

TM, 3:52 PM: even after shes turned our world upside down youre still defending her

OQ, 4:03 PM: It’s not her fault

TM, 4:05 PM: that our parents are fucked in the head and decided to bareback bang decades ago?

OQ, 4:08 PM: Why are you the worst?

TM, 4:09 PM: did felicity really have to be so observant and thorough  
TM, 4:09 PM: all she had was blood type and grayish eyes

OQ, 4:14 PM: I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question

TM, 4:15 PM: malcolm though  
TM, 4:15 PM: he can never know

OQ, 4:16 PM: Agreed

 

 

* * *

 

“This is awkward, right?” Laurel chuckled nervously and raised her wine glass to her lips before setting it down determinedly. “Why is this so awkward?”

“Could be worse,” Tommy countered with the charming grin she used to hate but had apparently been growing on her. “We could be Ollie and Felicity.”

A little inelegantly, she snorted at that worst case scenario then quickly covered her mouth in embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t,” he was quick to reach across the table and pull her hand away, “We didn’t wait all this time to... I don’t need or want you to impress me with super professional Assistant Attorney General Laurel Lance. I just want you to be  _Laurel_. And I’m hoping you’re not seeing just a college dropout or my father’s son."

Her answering smile was soft and sincere, and she squeezed his hand gently. “Okay. Just Laurel and Tommy. That sounds really nice.”

 

* * *

 

It was early. So damn early. Why couldn’t Thea grasp the concept of time differences? Just because  _she_  was awake and at work didn’t mean it was later than the asscrack of dawn on the West Coast.

Tommy reached for his phone as it was vibrating off the nightstand. He caught it against the side of the shelf, even while it continued to beep and buzz with notifications. The sheer volume of messages had him waking up a little more, concerned that there was some kind of emergency. Since the group text was going batshit, he had to scroll up an excessive amount to figure out what the hell happened. 

Well, damn.

Fucking  _finally_.

Never one to be left out, Tommy sent off a quick text then collapsed back into bed. He was giving Oliver so much shit next trip. Belatedly, he pumped a fist in victory before falling asleep again.

 


	12. Rudely Eavesdropping: The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There could be a good excuse for why fifteen-odd people are jammed into a staff office the size of a broom closet on a Friday night. There could be but there isn’t.

 

**10:41 AM EST**

“Oliver,  _Oliver_ ,” she muttered against his throat.

His phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and it’s his fault she’s sexed up so good she couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave the bed to find it. Felicity jabbed her fingers into the indent of his left hip, the one place on his body he’s the slightest bit ticklish, and waited for the responding jerk.

It didn’t happen. He merely banded his arms tighter around her waist and shoved his face deeper into her mess of hair. Of course.

Absentmindedly, she patted the top of his head and praised, “Good cuddler.”

Surprising no one, Oliver had intimacy issues. Those women she’d run into leaving his hotel room on the campaign trail? They hadn’t necessarily left by choice because he had always  _politely_  kicked them out after their... assignations.

When they first started sleeping together regularly, a solid nine hours after their first kiss in the White House, he shied away from spending the night in the same bed if it was  _just_  to sleep. He wasn’t crazy enough to ask her to leave his place, or offer to leave hers, but he’d retreat to the couch or spare bed. It took them awhile—okay, like two months—before he trusted himself to hold her after he fell asleep. She’s pretty sure that first night he stayed resulted more from exhaustion from their pleasantly disrupted sleep schedules than an actual conscious decision. In any case, Oliver adjusted surprisingly quickly and now slept wrapped around her like a vine.

Felicity, of course, still remembered those heartbreaking nights when he’d slink out of bed like a wounded animal and always liked to acknowledge his progress.

His phone hadn’t stopped ringing so she finally untangled her legs from his and pushed on his chest to leverage her way out. As usual, his skin was cool to the touch, which had surprised her at first. She’d expected Oliver to be something of a space heater, but he was kind of the opposite. Almost as if his body still expected extreme and harsh conditions so it hoarded every ounce of body heat possible instead of emitting the warmth. Whatever the reason, he always used it as an excuse to snuggle closer and steal  _her_  warmth, calling her his personal sun.

He was such a sap. How did she ever convince herself he wouldn’t propose? That he’d be fine without the legalities and formalities of forever?

After a moment’s struggle to get her legs under her, Felicity rummaged through the pile of discarded clothes, finding his phone in yesterday’s jacket pocket. She squinted at the illuminated screen, bringing it close to her face to make out the caller ID. With a deliberate throat clear—she’d already been warned that no one besides Oliver needed to know what her sex voice sounded like—Felicity hit accept.

“Thea?”

“ _Finally!_  What the hell happened last night? Where are you guys?”

“We’re at home. Where else would we be?”

Her voice trailed off as she took in her surroundings. This was definitely not their apartment. They didn’t have blackout curtains to block out the sun. Oliver preferred these gauzy white things that she always worried their neighbors could see through because he liked how the morning sun illuminated her in bed. Odd for a man with all his military training to prefer that view over eliminating sight lines.

“ _Not_  home,” Thea groused, unaware that Felicity had just reached that conclusion. “I’m standing in your apartment.”

Thea’s voice faded to the background while Felicity stepped closer to the hotel room—that location was obvious now—windows. She peeled back the curtain an inch, because nudity, and squinted against the bright sun.

“Oh boy.”

“Oh boy? Oh boy what? Where are you? Are you safe at least? Ollie’s with you. Of course, you’re safe. Physically, at least. I don’t need to know the exact timing for when I’m getting a niece or nephew.”

“Thea, I have to go. We’ll call you back later. Love you, bye.”

 

* * *

 

**TWELVE HOURS AGO**

“What’d you tell her?” Roy whispered. He was pressed up next to her, doing a valiant job of fending off Curtis who kept jockeying for a better position. The president and the first lady, of course, took up most of the space directly behind the barely cracked-open door, and no one, not even the self-proclaimed Mr. Terrific, dared to get within an inch of them.

“That the president needed to discuss a new project with her. Super confidential, and urgent,” she whispered back. The president threw her a quick wink over his shoulder, approving of her vague but sufficient lie.

Thea hoped this project wasn’t  _that_  confidential between the couple. Sure, the proposal itself could be a surprise, but the concept of an engagement and marriage really should have been discussed at length before Ollie decided to propose like this. Late at night, in the hallway where they first kissed, requiring certain employees of the executive branch of the federal government to scheme to A. clear the premises, B. get Felicity there without raising her suspicions, and C. cram themselves into one of the press staff’s offices for optimal eavesdropping. Okay, he might not know about C but he should expect it.

She would have thought to question him earlier if she hadn’t been too busy squealing her excitement when Ollie asked her permission to use Mom’s ring. In her entire memory, Thea didn’t think she’d ever seen Ollie smile so wide, only to turn into a grimace when she complained about it taking so long. She tempered the teasing by gushing that Felicity would love the ring and that, of course, he had her blessing.

But what if Felicity said no?

Hastily, Thea shook the thought out of her head. Not to be the Queen of Millennials, but #nobadvibes. With so many of them packed into this office, there wasn’t any room for those.

Lyla half-turned and almost violently shushed them, the room quieting in a millisecond. A few seconds later, Thea heard the familiar clicking of Felicity’s heels. Damn the first lady’s supernatural hearing. The near-silent scuff of Oliver’s dress shoes was next as he rounded the corner to intercept her.

“Oliver! What are you—”

Felicity’s abrupt gasp was the last audible sound they heard as Oliver’s voice dropped too low to carry. Thea wasn’t worried though. She knew the cameras and mics Curtis and Cisco had planted would give them a front row seat for rewatching.

Letting her head drop back against the wall, Thea closed her eyes. She wondered if Felicity would let him finish the speech he’d prepared and practiced on her and Roy too many times to count. It was a good speech, full of heartfelt sentiment that Ollie had never been comfortable expressing, even before the military. Hell, he was probably better at telling people they were important to him now that he’d gone and spent years getting shot at. These days, he had something— _someone_ —he was willing to fight for.

Suddenly, Thea realized this was taking too long. Felicity should have squealing with excitement by now, and they would have poured into the hallway in celebration. Damn letting them have a moment. As if reading her mind, questioning murmurings began flowing through the room.

They didn’t have to wait long.

The door flung open, and between the president and first lady blocking the view, she could just make out Ollie, his face ashen and grief-stricken. Guess he did expect for them to be eavesdropping nearby. Before anyone could try to lie about what they were doing there, he shook his head.

“She said no.”

He didn’t wait for a response but turned on his heel and walked away. Sara unleashed a rough exclamation, Thea assumed a filthy curse word, in what might have been Arabic. Even Nyssa seemed taken aback by her girlfriend’s vehemence. The agent shouldered past the president and the first lady and took off at a run, presumably to chase down Felicity.

Thea didn’t worry about Ollie for the moment, not with Tommy breaking off to follow him out. No, she whirled on Curtis, who was sharing his incredulity with Dinah. She grabbed his arm and shook him slightly for good measure.

“Delete. It. Now! Do not watch it. Just delete all of it.”

Curtis fumbled for his phone, and she watched with some satisfaction as he quickly disabled the cameras and microphones and deleted everything from them, even off the backup servers.

Now what the  _hell_  just happened?

 

* * *

 

“Man, will you slow down? I’m pretty sure I don’t have the clearance to be here,” Tommy complained to Oliver’s back. A couple more seconds, and he would have lost the guy in the hallways. Thankfully, Oliver slowed to a stop in the middle of the hall, fists clenched at his side.

“Thanks,” he sarcastically offered, but it didn’t draw a reaction. “What the hell happened back there? Felicity change her mind? Not that I blame her, you know, but telling your boyfriend you’re ready for marriage and then bolting when he proposes? That’s kind of bad form.”

Oliver didn’t turn, didn’t react, didn’t step in to defend Felicity like normal. When Tommy rounded his motionless form, he wasn’t shocked to see Oliver’s expression crumpled, almost destroyed. Still. This was bad.

“Tell me?” he finally echoed, his voice all confusion. “Aren’t proposals supposed to be a surprise?”

“Sure, the  _proposal_ ,” Tommy agreed warily. Oliver wouldn’t have just... “You hopelessly romantic dumbass. You just proposed? Without talking to Felicity first? Why am I even surprised? You’re the couple that wouldn’t get together for over a year because you couldn’t figure out how to talk to each other.”

Oliver looked insulted, defeated, and defensive all at once. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so depressing. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what to say next. “So you wouldn’t just propose to Laurel?”

“Ollie, Laurel and I are basically in a long-distance relationship. We’re not even at the co-habiting stage yet, compared to you and Felicity, who practically moved in together after the first date, but yeah. This is Laurel we’re talking about. I wouldn’t propose until after  _multiple_  discussions about where we’d live, how many kids we’re having, when they’d be least disruptive to her career, obviously I’ll be the stay-at-home dad... You get the drill.”

The other two emotions drained out of Oliver so that defeated was all that was left.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t have proposed?”

“No! I mean, you love Felicity and want to marry her. Obviously, she loves you. Just maybe you should have made sure marriage was her endgame before all...  _this_.” He got a dirty look for that one and sighed, “Yeah, I know. We didn’t have to spy.”

Oliver sent him another long-suffering glare. “You guys have been overly invested in our relationship since before the beginning. The eavesdropping wasn’t the unexpected part of tonight.”

“That’d be the two of us, actually recognizing the amazing women in our lives and worrying that they don’t want to marry us. Can you imagine the reactions of high school Ollie and Tommy?” They shared a look of amusement, Oliver’s lips actually turning up in a small grin.

High school Tommy would have never wanted to date uptight Laurel Lance who started up with Oliver to spite her younger sister, and high school Ollie would have never been interested in a girl who was twenty times smarter than he could even imagine and the self-proclaimed Queen of the Nerds. Oh, the horror.

“I guess I should go find out why Felicity literally ran away from the idea of marrying me. Other than divorced parents and being raised by her single mom. Aw, hell.”

There it was. The realization that Felicity slighted him but only because he legitimately spooked her. Could they get more dysfunctional?

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically. “I’m pretty sure Sara went after your lady love, so we’ll have you two right side up in no time. At least until you put that ring on her finger. Pretty sure Felicity’s going to be all off-balance after that.”

“You think the ring’s too big?”

“It’s Moira’s, right? There’s your answer.”

 

* * *

 

Sara came to an abrupt stop before the passageway connecting the White House to the next door Eisenhower Executive Office Building, where Felicity had her office. Hands on her hips, she loudly sighed, “I can hear you breathing. Why don’t you save us both the trouble and just come out?”

No response came until a door cracked open. She rounded it quickly to find Felicity sitting on the floor just inside the office, knees pulled up to her chest and generally looking miserable. With a pitying chuckle, Sara slid down the wall next to her, bumping her lightly until Felicity abruptly dropped her head onto her shoulder.

“What happened? You said no?”

Felicity’s head snapped back up to look at her with panicked concern. “Oliver thinks I said no? I didn’t say no. I didn’t say anything. I just... left.”

“I— I don’t know that that’s better,” she commented with a cringe, and Felicity reluctantly conceded the point. “ _Why_  did you leave? You two are doing great. I never thought I’d see the day Ollie got on bended knee without a gun to his head, but here we are.”

It was Felicity’s turn to cringe, before she haltingly offered, “My father’s some kind of criminal mastermind. Don’t know how that escaped the background check.”

“It didn’t.” At Felicity’s curious look, Sara responded in the simplest and most honest way she knew how. “You’re  _not_  him.”

Shaking her head as if to set it aside for later, Felicity continued, “And my mom? She did the best she could, you know? But she’s a cocktail waitress in Vegas because that was the preferred alternative to staying with my father.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Oliver’s not the only one with commitment issues, okay? Everyone’s so focused on him maturing from being a playboy and no longer sleeping with anyone with a vagina, no offense.” Sara just shrugged dismissively. “No one’s ever stopped to consider that maybe marriage isn’t something I want. Or want to be pressured into.”

“If that’s the case, you should maybe tell Ollie that instead of running away.”

Sara did her best not to sound judgmental. It wasn’t Felicity’s fault if marriage wasn’t something she wanted but Oliver jumped the gun anyway. Not just jumped the gun, but turned it into a production involving all their friends and family. It sucked for Ollie to be told “no”—because that was what Felicity’s reaction broadcasted despite her arguing over semantics—but it also sucked for Felicity to have the whole situation sprung on her.

For fuck’s sake, it was Friday night. Some of them still had to show up for work in the morning. No one had the energy for emotional revelations and impromptu therapy sessions, just happy hour.

Felicity silently nodded her agreement, and she pushed to her feet, turning to help Felicity up off the floor. Neither of them said a word as she lead them back towards the Oval Office and that fateful hallway where Ollie was waiting per Tommy’s text. Well, not until Felicity’s yelp when she hurriedly brushed the dust off her friend’s ass.

 

* * *

 

“Is it the ring?” he rushed out. Oliver was wringing his hands, not holding them at the ready as he was trained to do, but actually  _wringing_. “I know it’s a lot. It was my mom’s, and she was kind of... focused on appearances. I— _we_ —can get a different one if you don’t like it.”

“Oliver, am I really the type of girl to run away from a marriage proposal because of the  _ring_?”

“You’re not the type to run away period,” he grit out between clenched teeth, and she turned away in shame.

That was far from her best moment in life. Top three worst ones so far, actually. It was just...

They hadn’t been dating long, just moved in together a couple months ago. A year and a half was barely a blip in the course of life, although their friendship before that was nearly twice as long and this was the longest (consecutive) relationship either of them had ever had. Plus, as they got older, the less time people dated before becoming engaged. It’s not like they were high school sweethearts who had to prove to everyone they could make it through college before deciding to get married.

They were in their thirties. They had stable, established lives. They were  _in love_. Of course, the next logical step was marriage, or at least an engagement.

But Oliver was a well-documented manwhore with commitment issues. And she? Well, she had her own issues that she had buried so thoroughly under her work and her career that seemingly no one knew they existed.

Actually, one person did.

“You haven’t talked to my mom, have you?”

Oliver looked startled by the unexpected question. She could read his frustration at the apparently off-topic question before he tamped it down. “Uh, no. I didn’t think she could keep it a surprise. I thought we could tell her together but I guess there’s nothing to tell.”

“Can you stop the guilt trip for a second? I’m sorry I ran but I want to explain where I’m coming from without feeling like I’m on trial.”

His back stiffened, and his jaw clamped shut. Worst of all, his eyes shuttered, hiding even his disappointment from her. Felicity sighed, knowing he was bracing for some kind of crushing blow and hating that it’d come to this.

“We’ve never talked about marriage. Not seriously, Oliver,” she added to cut off his protests. Sure, everyone joked about when he was going to “wife” her, but that didn’t count. “I’m kind of... I don’t want to say shocked, but this was unexpected. For me.”

Nervously, he scratched at the back of his head. “I didn’t think we needed to talk about it.” This time, it was him holding up a hand to stop her disbelieving protest. “Every woman I’ve ever dated had marriage as their end goal. I just assumed”—Oliver laughed bitterly—”You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known. How could I be so  _stupid_  and just assume you would want to marry me? Of course, you’re different.”

“Hey,” she stepped right up to him, placing her hand over his heart. “You’re  _not_ stupid. If anyone’s being stupid about this,” she paused, trying to get back on track and not play the blame game, “I know you had your own challenges getting here, to a place where you want to spend forever with someone.”

“Not someone.  _You_ ,” he corrected emphatically.

“Okay, me,” Felicity conceded, ducking her head in embarrassment. “But you know about my father and Cooper and just... I don’t... I was conditioned into thinking that there was something wrong with  _me_ , that I was unloveable, and that everyone would leave me eventually.”

“You’re not. You’re absolutely perfect. You make me fall more in love with you every day.”

Shaking her head, she steamrolled past his reassurances. They weren’t something she deserved to hear, not after running out on him. “That’s why I got so good at computers. They’re machines, you know? There are only so many, mostly predictable, ways they can let you down, and they definitely can’t break your heart. I never saw marriage as something for me. I didn’t daydream about my wedding as a little girl. I figured I’d have my career, and that would be what made my life full and fulfilled. But then you came along.”

“You turned my world upside down. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough to do work that made other people’s lives better. I wanted  _my_  life to be better, and the only way it could be better was if you were in it. You already mean so much to me, Oliver. I’ve  _never_ loved someone like I love you, but I’m scared. I’m scared of what happens if I let you become everything. No one person can be everything to everyone, or even just another person. And you’re already dangerously close to  _everything_  for me. What’ll I do if one day you’re gone, too, just like—”

Oliver’s hand rose to cover hers on his chest. He crouched down a little, to make sure they held eye contact, before he reassured her, “Hey, I would never leave you.”

“That’s not always going to be your choice. You’ve chosen a profession that is inherently dangerous, that requires you to put your life second. I love you for it, I do. I respect it, and I admire the hell out of you. But one day, I could lose you.”

She stopped. Entirely. Her hand fell from his, and her mouth dropped open. She must have forgotten to breathe, too, because she had to suck in a huge lungful of air once she regained her senses.

Oliver hadn’t moved an inch, but his expression was contorted with an interesting mix of frustration, anticipation, and concern, patiently yet impatiently waiting for her to finish.

“ _Yes_.”

“Yes, what?” he repeated slowly. Felicity thought she could see the hope swelling in his eyes, but he was doing an admirable job of keeping it at bay.

“Oliver, I love you, and I could lose you. Without warning. I don’t— I don’t want there to be any regrets between us. I don’t want to look back and wonder if I could have loved you more or if our relationship could have been better, deeper. So if you’re still asking, then I’m saying yes. Yes, I will marry you.”

The disbelief was still etched onto his expression, but Felicity disregarded it to continue. She could always convince him of her seriousness later. Oh the joy that could be had convincing him to forget her doubts. “To be clear, I don’t want an engagement or a fancy wedding. I just want to be yours, and for you to be mine. Completely, without any doubts, without—”

Finally, Oliver jolted into action. Much like their very first kiss, here in this hallway, he cradled her face in his large palms and kissed her, cutting off the rest of her thoughts. Unlike their very first kiss, Felicity didn’t freeze up in surprise but sunk into it, into  _him_ , letting him walk her backwards until she was pressed against a wall.

Suddenly, he pulled away, and she pried open her eyes to see where he’d gone. Just a few inches away and beaming into her face. No reason at all why he shouldn’t still be kissing her.

“Felicity, I have loved you from a distance and I’ve loved you in very glorious, up-close detail. If there’s a way to be closer, more completely yours, I didn’t want to miss out on it. I’m scared, too. Of how much my happiness, my well-being, is dependent on yours. But every time we’ve taken a step forward, it’s made me happier. Loving you has made me a better person. So I’m not willing to miss out on a better life just because I’m scared. We’re worth the risk.  _You’re_  worth the risk.”

Felicity grabbed his lapels, dragging him back down to her. If she didn’t, she would have cried. Happy tears, of course, but still no one needed or wanted her as a sobbing mess right now. When they did finally break apart, she dropped her head against the wall with a blinding smile and a satisfied sigh. 

Wait—

“Oliver, have you guys moved the security cameras in this hall?”

He shook his head and slowly turned to follow her stare. “No, that’s not supposed to be there.”  _That_  was a very small surveillance camera, barely bigger than a button but starkly black against the starkly white wall and lit sconce.

Both their heads turned to look one way down the hall, then the other. Finally, after taking stock of the extra cameras placed throughout the hallway, they made eye contact, annoyance and disbelief etched onto both their expressions. Felicity gaped for another moment before sighing, “I mean I figured they’re all here, what with Sara chasing me down and everything, but they’re  _recording_  this?”

“Mics, too,” Oliver grumbled in a low whisper. Those had been harder to spot, the small bits of fuzz pressed into the crevices where the walls met the carpet and dangling from the ceiling on clear wires. Suddenly, his face lit up, and he pushed closer to whisper in her ear.

“Are you serious?!”

Felicity’s exclamation earned her a quieting look. If there was any justice in the world, they were reeling in that staff office from the feedback her Loud Voice had caused. Nosy, self-important meddlers.

“I mean, are you serious?” she repeated in a whisper, her tone sincere, skeptical, and contemplative all at once.

“Well,” Oliver hedged, not sure if she thought he was crazy or what, “You said you didn’t want a long engagement or a big wedding. We both have enough connections to hitch a ride somehow.”

The smile was slow to spread but ecstatic by the time it stretched across Felicity’s whole face. She bit her lip in anticipation. “They’ll kill us.  _Thea_  will kill us.”

Oliver shrugged dismissively. “I think they deserve a little bit of payback for spying on us right now. We can always do something here later.”

“Give me a second to shut these things down,” Felicity reached for her cell phone, easily finding the network they were transmitting on, but Oliver distracted her by shoving his tongue in her mouth again. Finally, she pulled back and sighed, “Let’s go,” before cutting the feed.

 

* * *

 

Lyla had been the one to notice that the halls were too quiet, even for, and maybe especially for, an emotionally charged conversation. Quickly, Nyssa, the sneakiest of them all, slipped out, only to return a few moments later to announce they were gone. Alarmed, they spilled out of the office, milling about the suddenly vacant hallway.

Thea turned to Curtis with a lightbulb expression. “Did you turn those cameras and mics back on?”

“Yeah!” he lit up excitedly, pulling out his phone. Earlier, they had agreed not to watch the footage without Oliver’s and Felicity’s permission. The couple deserved some modicum of privacy. Too bad they ran off before anyone could ask.

Curtis accessed the app for the live surveillance, and the rest of them huddled around him, trying to peek over his shoulders but it was futile effort for just about everyone. “At least, I thought I did,” he muttered in confusion when the feed showed nothing but white noise instead of a live shot of them all standing in the hallway.

“They found the cameras,” Dig stated with a note of annoyance, “Couldn’t just let us have this one.”

“Must have,” Curtis muttered again, “Felicity—well I’m guessing it was Felicity—turned them off a couple minutes ago. Let me rewind...”

Everyone jumped at Felicity’s exclamation of “Are you serious?!”, her voice crackly and feedback-y, but still  _loud_ , through the speaker of Curtis’ phone and into the quiet hallway. Thea jammed herself in next to his elbow as Curtis selected the camera with the best angle, but she couldn’t hear anything else since the couple dropped their voices to a mere whisper. She rolled her eyes as they continued to make out in between whispering into each other’s mouths. Still, their smiles and the excitement almost visibly thrumming through their bodies were easy to see, despite the lower quality of the camera. Her future sister-in-law—because there’s no way things went poorly this time around if they were  _mauling_ each other—extracted her phone stealthily, one hand on Ollie’s cheek, and then snow. 

They all stared at each other in confusion, at a loss of what to do next.

Finally, Lyla pragmatically suggested, “Let’s just give them tonight. They couldn’t have gone far.” The group dispersed with a grumble, Sara complaining about needing to be back for her shift in a few hours.

 

* * *

 

**10:47 AM EST**

Oliver stirred awake just in time to see Felicity set his phone down on the nightstand. He never could sleep much without her next to him. Which made for all sorts of long nights and longer days when their schedules didn’t sync.

Noticing him awake, she bounced onto the bed, half-landing on him with a soft thud. He grumbled a little more before unceremoniously dragging her back underneath him. His smile was involuntary but not at all unwelcome.

“Hi, wife.”

“Hi, husband,” she grinned back. “You sexed me up so good, I momentarily forgot we flew to Vegas and got married last night.”

Oliver leveled her with a look of offense. “You  _forgot_?”

“ _Momentarily_ , I said,” she bumped her nose against his, and it had the odd effect of making his eyes crinkle, “Those moments just happened to be while I was on the phone with Thea. She called wanting to know where we disappeared to since we weren’t at home.” 

His eyes widened, and he couldn’t stop the groan even if he wanted to. “Thea’s going to kill us.”

“Ooh, I  _do_  remember telling you that last night.  _Someone_  didn’t particularly care in the moment,” Felicity reminded him with a smug smirk. “You’re not having regrets, are you? About marriage and, I guess, the whole shotgun aspect of how this particular one started?”

“Not in a million years. You gave me an opening so I took it. I’d marry you knee-deep in the Potomac. Or during a meeting on campaign finances. Or at a grassroots rally.”

Felicity’s confused yet adoring yet mildly disgusted expression was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her expression quickly settled on adoring as she raised an expectant eyebrow. “You didn’t do something crazily romantic and thoughtful like order room service, did you?”

“Uh,” Oliver faltered. Because no, but he really should have thought of that himself. “No, I was kind of preoccupied last night and, you know, in a sex coma the last couple hours.”

Did someone figure out where they ran off to? After exhausting his military connections and striking out, Felicity had finally gotten in touch with some rich, eccentric, tech maven named Harry Wells, who was in town to testify in front of Congress next week and had zero reservations about lending her his private jet and pilot for the weekend. Maybe Curtis knew the guy and got questioned as to why his boss wanted to borrow a plane to fly to Las Vegas at nearly midnight. Unlikely, though, that Curtis would keep his mouth shut about it, and they knew from Thea’s call that she’d expected to find them at home.

Felicity brought him back to the matter at hand. A bright blush stained her cheeks as she recalled their enthusiastic wedding night. Suggestively, she mused, “Thinking back on it, I’m surprised we even made it to the bed.”

Oliver chuckled lightly, wrapping his arms around her waist to better situate her on top of him. “We didn’t. I woke up a couple hours ago now, I guess, on the floor. Carried you to bed while you complained at me that it was supposed to be a threshold.”

Speaking of the room’s entrance, they were reminded of the morning’s second interruption by another knock, or knocks. This time, the intruder knocked loudly and repeatedly, their agitation evident in the beat. The racket was both annoying and unsettling when they hadn’t yet announced themselves like hotel staff often did.

Oliver shifted Felicity onto the bed and reached for his underwear. He looked around for a weapon before catching Felicity’s amused but exasperated eye roll. “Just look through the peephole first,” she pointed out logically.

With a huff, he went to do that and was about to call out a disgruntled, “Just a second,” before he was interrupted again.

“Felicity Megan Smoak!” The voice and pitch were unmistakable, and he looked back towards the bed to find Felicity’s eyes round and terrified. “You better open up if you’re in there! Don’t think I won’t announce your business to the world!”

Oliver froze in indecision, and Felicity wasn’t doing much better. Obviously, they were taking too long because the yelling continued.

“Why did I wake up to a text that someone who looked remarkably like my only daughter was seen checking into the Bellagio and wearing a  _wedding ring_?! Oliver Queen, open this door right now! Because if you aren’t the tall, dark, and handsome who was seen with her, I will eat my shoes! I mean, I will make  _you_  eat my shoes!”

Subconsciously, his eyes drifted back to the room door during the tirade. After she finished, she went back to knocking—pounding, really—with  _both_  hands if the amount of noise and force were any indication. When Oliver turned back to the bed this time, Felicity wasn’t anywhere to be found because she had thoroughly burrowed under the covers.

“Hon,” he started, relieved when she flipped up a section of blanket to poke her head out, “Forget my sister. Your  _mother_  is going to kill us.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later, they were sitting next to each other at one of the cafes scattered throughout the hotel. Her mom was across from them, doing a bang-up job of looking elated and disappointed and inquisitive at the same time. Once the waiter delivered coffees and took their orders, she could sense the (dramatic) guilt trip about to begin.

“I just don’t see why you excluded your family. Weddings are supposed to be celebrations, not things done in secret. Unless there’s something  _else_  you’re keeping secret?”

Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment in confusion until Oliver lightly poked her stomach. Felicity jumped in surprise then rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not pregnant! Don’t get ahead of yourself. And wasn’t much of a secret,” she mumbled the last part under her breath.

Really, she “accessed” the security cameras of wherever they’d been to “forget” her and Oliver’s faces, but she completely forgot her mom’s network was old school. Security guards and waitresses and concierges who’d watched her grow up and were fascinated by her unconventional life outside of Vegas. (In her opinion, it was her life that was normal, and life in Vegas that was unconventional.)

“Didn’t even make it twenty-four hours,” she complained. In her defense, Felicity wasn’t that negligent of a daughter. They were planning on surprise visiting her mom’s tomorrow, after a nice quiet day to themselves.

Oliver bumped his knee against hers when Donna’s expression fell further. “What Felicity means is... We weren’t trying to  _exclude_  anyone. Thea’s going to be just as upset that she missed it.”

Donna arched an eyebrow at him in a way that Felicity was immensely familiar with. Was there anything worse than a disappointed parent? “Is your upsetting your lovely sister supposed to make me feel better, Oliver?”

“No,” he grumbled, equally as chastised.

Comfortingly, Felicity squeezed his hand under the table. The ball was in her court (in his words). After all, this was  _her_  mother, and he was going to bear the brunt of it with Thea once they got home.

“And what Oliver means is... We weren’t really thinking about anyone else when we made this decision. I know that’s selfish, but it was the right time for  _us_. And we just— We just wanted to be married. I’m sorry that we hurt you by not having a big wedding or anything, but it’s not what we focused on.”

“Oh, I don’t care about a wedding, Felicity. Give me some credit. I care about seeing you happy. I’m pretty sure the moment you and Oliver became husband and wife is the happiest you have ever been,” completely without thought, she and Oliver turned to smile at each other as if confirming her guess, “I’m upset I missed  _that_.”

“Mom,” Felicity choked out. She didn’t think it was possible for her heart to be simultaneously so full of love and cracking open with despair at the same time. Yet here she was. Because of a woman bedecked in more rhinestones than strictly necessary before noon.

“I imagine Thea—and all your friends—will be upset for a similar reason.” Donna directed that comment more to Oliver, and Felicity felt when it home for him by the way he clutched the crap out of her hand. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now. I guess I’ll just have to be happy you two finally pulled your heads out of your asses.”

Oliver choked at the blunt description, and the waiter further broke into the moment by arriving with their breakfast. He took the opportunity to lean down towards her ear and whisper, “You’re right. I thought my mom was bad, but Jewish mom guilt is  _brutal_.”

Felicity bit back her laugh, but it quickly turned into a groan when Donna encouraged them to, “Eat, eat! You probably need to refuel after your wedding night.”

 _Wonder where her tendency to drop innuendos came from?_  Felicity sarcastically questioned as she silently dug into her breakfast to hopefully cut short the embarrassment. With a fork halfway to her mouth, she paused, a stray thought coming back to her. “Mom, did you really threaten to make  _Oliver_  eat your shoes if  _I_  had married someone other than him?”

“Oh, I guess I did. I’m sorry, Oliver. That was just the heat of the moment. Doesn’t make much sense, huh?” Donna didn’t give him a chance to respond since she lunged across the table and grabbed for Felicity’s free hand, which Oliver had reluctantly released to pick up his own utensils.

Felicity startled for a second before realizing what her mom was going for. Grudgingly, she let Donna stretch her arm across the table. Yet another thing that wasn’t going to go over well.

“Oh thank god. This is much nicer than the standard fare at the wedding chapels. Did you bring them from DC?”

They shared a grimace at the perfectly reasonable question. The answer really wouldn’t improve Donna’s opinion of their actions last night. Finally, Felicity bit the bullet. “This is going to sound terrible to you, but it was just the most practical option at the time. We, uh— We found a twenty-four-hour jewelry store.”

Felicity cringed as her mother actually fanned herself.

“I have an engagement ring,” Oliver was quick to interject. With a hearty eye roll, she let him try to save face in front of her mother. She knew the lack of an engagement ring would look worse for him than for her, even if it was her decision.

Where Felicity didn’t care much for material things like that, her mom obviously did. Felicity didn’t fault Donna for it. For so long, they scraped by on the bare minimum. On the one hand, that experience taught Felicity not to put too much value on  _stuff_ , yet on the other, Donna valued those types of things  _because_  she hadn’t been able to provide them for Felicity. Flashy jewelry and big houses and fancy cars were the finish line, the dream, the castle in the sky, and Donna didn’t always understand why Felicity didn’t want them now that she could afford them. Or, in this case, refused them from her previously rich-as-Montgomery-Burns husband.

“It was my mother’s. We have it in the hotel safe right now, but Felicity’s chosen not to wear it.”

Remarkably, Oliver didn’t sound offended that she didn’t want to wear his dead mother’s ring—sounded so creepy when she put it like that—but  _proud_.

“I don’t need a diamond or any other stone to prove how much Oliver loves me,” she rationalized before Donna could question her sanity. “We’re married. That’s what matters. That’s what I want  _our_  rings to symbolize. A partnership, an  _equal_  partnership, and our commitment to each other. That’s all I want.”

Fascinated, Felicity watched as her mom slowly broke out in a tremulous smile. “Oh, baby girl. I love you so much. I love you  _both_  so much. Please, please always take care of each other like you do now. That’s all  _I_  want.”

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, when they deplaned at the private terminal at Dulles, Thea was waiting for them on the tarmac. His sister’s eyes were blocked by her oversized sunglasses, unnecessary given that the sun was almost down, but her irritation was palpable in her crossed arms and tapping foot. “Shit,” he heard Felicity mutter as she clutched onto his arm tighter.

“You’ve got to be  _fucking_  kidding me!” Thea yelled over the still idling engines. She marched up to them and slugged him in the arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. Pausing, she looked over to Felicity, who was still huddled into his side, and then hit him again. “You guys are  _such_ assholes.”

Spinning on her heel, she headed back for her car. Cautiously, Oliver followed, pulling his and Felicity’s suitcases along. “What are you waiting for?” Thea scowled as they waited next to her car. “Get in!”

“Where are we going?” Felicity ventured, shrinking back slightly when Thea responded by raising her sunglasses and sending her a withering look. “Okay, never mind.”

“ _Thea_ ,” Oliver attempted to reason.

His sister sighed heavily and shot him a long-suffering glare. “Just... just get in the car,” she finally said tiredly. Grudgingly, Oliver obeyed, half-turning in the front passenger seat to make sure Felicity had settled fine in the back.

The drive was tense. Thea had removed her sunglasses, and he could see the strain around her eyes, lines that shouldn’t be there given her age and skincare regimen. Now that Donna had very succinctly described why their friends and family would be hurt by their elopement, Oliver was even more uncomfortable at having to broach the topic.

When they left for Vegas, Oliver didn’t have any qualms about it just being him and Felicity. It was their life and their relationship, after all. He’d forgotten that they wouldn’t have made it this far, individually or as a couple, without the love and support of their family and friends. Just as he and Felicity had every right to want a private moment, they had every right to be hurt by the exclusion. He would be hurt if Thea and Roy ran off and eloped without telling him. A compromise probably could have been reached, had they not been so caught up in the moment.

Until Thea pulled up to their apartment building, Oliver was half-convinced she was driving them somewhere to kill them and dump their bodies. Silently, they exited her car, and he unloaded the luggage before they filed into the elevator. The entire ride up Thea glued her eyes to her phone, presumably texting with Roy. Not until they reached the front door and he pulled out his key, did Thea break her silence.

“Look, I didn’t mean to be so... mean. I’m really happy for you guys and—”

“We’re sorry!” Felicity blurted out before he could try to. “We were being selfish and we weren’t really thinking and we’re sorry. It was just, you know, I realized I was being hesitant for not very good reasons, and once I did, there was so much  _momentum_.”

“You married me because of momentum?” Oliver questioned skeptically, and Felicity lightly elbowed his side.

“And I never wanted a big wedding or anything, and Oliver didn’t care.”

Thea scoffed at that understatement. “Yeah, I know. Big bro would marry you anywhere, anytime. So why did it have to be that night? Without telling anyone?”

Oliver watched as Felicity wavered between looking flattered and guilty and figured it was a good time to step in. “There didn’t seem to be a point to waiting, except that we forgot about everyone who’s been standing behind us and supporting us this entire way. There’s no excuse for that, Thea. All we can do is apologize. We’re sorry.” He tried to move in for a hug, but Thea sidestepped him, crossing her arms.

Sighing, he went for a different angle. “Look, we talked about doing something here. With everyone, I mean. Donna said she’d fly in. We’d really like you to be a part of that. Even if that doesn’t make up for taking off like we did.”

Thea looked unmoved by his apology and the offer, and Oliver felt the long-forgotten feeling of despair swamping him. What if this broke their relationship? Oliver never meant to advance his relationship with Felicity at the expense of his relationship with Thea—and he knew that was the last thing Felicity wanted, too—but what if this was the last straw? For years, Thea had to put up with a brother who was too self-involved and thoughtless to prioritize her. Now that he’d been making amends for that behavior, trying to prove to Thea that he would always be there, he fell back on old habits and lost sight of the big picture—his family—in the narrow-minded pursuit of one goal—officially making Felicity part of his family.

“If I accept your apology, will you stop using the royal we?” she finally sighed. He and Felicity exchanged confused looks, and Thea rolled her eyes. “Through this entire thing, you have both been referring to yourselves in the collective, and if I have to live the rest of my life like that, I will scream. I get it, okay? You’re married. Doesn’t mean you have to be entirely codependent. Didn’t think you two could actually get worse, but somehow—”

There was no other way to describe it. Felicity  _launched_  herself at Thea, his little sister barely catching herself against the door. “I love you, you know that? I’m so happy you’re officially my sister.”

“Well, there had to be some benefit to marrying Ollie,” Thea snarked even as she sent him a fond look.

Oliver didn’t bother hiding his eye roll. Nudging his sister out of the way of the front door, he grumbled, “Why did you follow us up anyway?”

With a pointed throat clear, Felicity smacked him. Then, he realized how that complaint could have sounded to Thea, especially when he just finished apologizing for not including her in their wedding. Whoops.

At least Thea took it in stride, her response casual. “I was hoping for a late dinner. You know, some kind of payment for driving you home from the airport so you didn’t have to put up with an Uber driver right after your mini-honeymoon?” For such a tiny human, she really was motivated by free food.

Oliver finally opened the door, sensing Felicity at his back. While he was reaching for the switch, the lights turned on. Instead of the standard “Surprise!”, their friends shouted a deafening “ _Fuck you!_ ” from where they stood under a “CONGRATS JERKS!” banner.

As he pulled her to his side, Felicity, confusingly and uncharacteristically teary, choked out, “Aww, you guys! This is so sweet. We love you, too.”

“No!” Thea loudly complained to their backs, “No more royal we!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among other things in Season 4, it never sat right with me how shocked Felicity was at Donna finding the ring. Not just (the size of) the ring itself but that Oliver had marriage on the mind. I don’t know if it’s because my friends are preternaturally mature and didn’t marry until they were more established in life, but come on. When you’re in your thirties (or like ever), don’t propose until you’ve had the marriage discussion.


	13. The Events of: February 13, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity’s first day at school— I mean, on the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m well aware the federal government isn’t actually this efficient but I wanted to use the date.

Oliver only had an hour for lunch, and he used the last five minutes of his patrol to position himself as close to the entrance of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building as possible.

Finally, Rene rounded the corner, looking confused to find him there. “Hoss, I was on my way. You didn’t have to come track me down.” 

“Right. See you in an hour,” he agreed hurriedly, slapping the other guy on the back and slipping into the hallway between the White House and the EEOB. 

Foot tapping impatiently, he waited for an elevator, annoyed that, when one finally came, there was an endless stream of employees headed out for their own lunch. The numbers lit up one by one until he reached the upper floor that OSTP called home. Already familiar with the floorplan—because it was his job and _not_ because he had scouted the department last week—he wound through the hallways and cubicles to finally reach a corner office. 

Cautiously, he peered around the doorframe and found boxes stacked on the floor, a visitor chair, and a corner of the standard-issue wooden desk. The one personal touch so far was a bouquet of flowers that he knew Thea had delivered to commemorate Felicity’s first day. After she told him, he was tempted to arrange his own welcome present but that seemed to decidedly overstep the boundaries of “just friends.”

 His usually expressionless expression fell upon realizing that the office was otherwise devoid of human presence. Good thing the rest of the floor was also empty since the department was still in the hiring/replacement process or out to lunch or some combination of both. It wouldn’t do anything for his reputation if a bunch of science geeks and policy geeks and science _and_ policy geeks found him pouting at an empty office.

“Ouch!”

The exclamation—in a decidedly feminine and familiar voice—stopped him in his tracks, and Oliver retraced the few steps he’d taken, a near bounce in his step. Sure enough, a blonde ponytail rose up from behind the desk, and he bit back his amusement at Felicity’s annoyed face as she gingerly prodded the top of her head.

“Who says office jobs aren’t dangerous?”

Felicity jumped a little then her eyes found his, lighting up, as she said his name in surprise. He almost sighed at the now unfamiliar sound. The inauguration had only been a few weeks ago, but it felt like forever. Felicity hadn’t texted him as often as before, and he knew her life was even busier than usual. The short weeks between then and now had been filled with her Senate confirmation, her departure from Palmer Tech, somehow rushed despite the months she’d spent preparing for it, and the move to DC.

He’d tried to offer his assistance, wanting to do something to erase their painfully awkward goodbye, but had been thwarted at every opportunity. Sara picked her up from the airport. The movers seamlessly filled her new apartment. The girls took her out for a spa day, brunch, and grocery shopping over the weekend.

All in all, Oliver felt displaced and useless. The only thing he could think to do was to find her on her first day in the short window of his lunch break. Even this seemed insufficient. 

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping closer. Unlike usual, Felicity didn’t hug him, not even the short, almost compulsory one when they last said goodbye. He’d chalk it up to being in the workplace—as empty as the floor seemed he supposed someone could come in at any point—but she even moved to the other side of the office. “I just wanted to see if you were settling in okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” her head bobbed almost nervously, “All good here. Just need more outlets. Can’t have too many outlets. Especially since this is the technology office. Technology that needs outlets. Now I’ve said outlets too many times.”

So he hadn’t been imagining things whenever he replayed that weekend in his mind. It was almost obsessive, and Thea called him out on more than one occasion for being broodily distracted. Maybe Felicity was worn out by a long, eventful week, and that’s why she’d been so... _not_ Felicity the morning she left. Or maybe something had fundamentally shifted, and things between them were never going to be the same again.

Guess door number two was correct.

“Do you want to go get lunch?” he blurted, feeling desperate and off-balance by her ramble. They’d grown out of those early in the friendship, and now she only rambled around him when feeling particularly anxious. Which was such a _great_ sign.

“I should unpack.” She gestured to the boxes scattered around, and he tried to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. “There’s probably not going to be much time for it once everyone gets back.”

“Do you need—”

Felicity shook her head to cut him off. “No, I’m just... really particular about my space.”

“I’ve noticed,” Oliver responded with a rueful smile. The first time Felicity hadn’t been some amount of awkward around him was when she ripped him a new one for moving her tablet and computer. After the surprising show of backbone was when Sara approached Felicity and declared that they were going to be excellent friends.

Too bad the same couldn’t be said for him and Felicity right now. She couldn’t even muster up a grin at the callback to their early days, and Oliver felt a strange sense of defeat settling in his bones. Contrary to what Thea thought, he could still read social cues, and Felicity’s all but screamed at him to leave.

They had always made an odd pair, but for the longest time, that was because of their pasts. Well, his specifically. _No one_ was an obvious friend choice for a former spoiled playboy turned soldier turned Secret Service agent.

 

Now they made strange bedfellows because of their _present_. Bluntly speaking, he was (still) just a bodyman, a booby-trapped obstacle to protect the president and one of dozens wandering around in near identical suits. Felicity, though, was no longer an unpaid volunteer but an appointed official with the Congressional stamp of approval. The decisions she made before breakfast could impact the lives of thousands, if not millions, of citizens.

Maybe Felicity finally realized that she could—and should—do better than him. Even on a just friends level.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he paused in the doorway for one last ditch effort, “But I’ll see you tomorrow night?” Her brow furrowed so he clarified, “For Sara’s anti-Valentine’s thing? She said you were coming.”

Her expression cleared a bit but then returned to puzzlement. “You’re going to that? I figured you’d have a date or something. Not that that matters. I mean, Sara and Nyssa are going strong and she’s the one throwing the damn thing. So obviously couples aren’t outlawed or anything. I just— I thought you’d have something better to do.” By the time she finished, Felicity wasn’t meeting his eyes but picking at some loose tape on one of her boxes.

Oliver didn’t know how to respond to that. So he’d been a little... indiscriminate on the campaign trail for awhile there. But he stopped and they’d been texting almost nonstop for months now. Did she really think he’d been seeing someone seriously enough for a Valentine’s Day date and hadn’t mentioned it to her? How had she not noticed that he was too preoccupied with her to even notice other women? Had Sara told her he had a date to entice Felicity into attending? Was his absence the only reason Felicity was even willing to go?

Most importantly, how did their lives—their _friendship_ —get this fucked up?

“No. To both. I’m not seeing anyone. Valentine’s Day serious or otherwise. And I can’t think of anything better to do on a random Tuesday night than spend time with my friends. Especially my _best_ friend who I haven’t seen in weeks.”

Felicity’s jaw dropped open a little as he finished, and he cringed at his complete lack of polish. But then she stepped closer and reached for his hand. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

After a brief moment of just holding her hand, he nodded with finality and turned to leave, but her quiet voice called him back. “Hey, Oliver? Thank you for being my friend. You know this already, but I’ve never moved anywhere where I had a support system. It means a lot.”

The vice around his heart eased, and he tried for a reassuring smile. “You never have to thank me, but you’re welcome all the same.” Felicity replied with her own smile, her eyes even crinkling at the corners. For a moment, Oliver was quietly pleased with himself until he remembered why he’d come up in the first place. “You, uh, you are going to eat lunch, though, right?”

A guilty flush spread across Felicity’s cheeks. Without even thinking about it, Oliver walked around her and put his hands on her shoulders to steer her out of the office. “No, I can’t!” she tried to protest, “This job is really important, and I don’t want to let down John. Every minute counts, Oliver!”

“And I’ll bet you'll be more productive in those minutes if you can think over the sound of your stomach grumbling,” he reasoned, releasing one hand to press the elevator call button. Oliver didn’t trust Felicity to not bolt back to her office if he entirely let her go.

As they waited, Felicity slumped a little where she stood. “You always do this.” The affection in her tone took the sting out of her complaint.

“Because you’re terrible at taking care of yourself when you’re stressed. And this is just your first day so you need to pace yourself. If you’re looking out for the entire nation, you’re going to have to start with yourself.”

Felicity turned in his hold to look at him, hope and something like awe shining in her eyes. Carefully, very carefully, she raised her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders in a tight hug. Without hesitation, Oliver returned the gesture, settling his arms around her waist just as tightly.

“I’m nervous. I’m just so nervous. I’ve never not had a gatekeeper before. Usually Ray or the board would be all, whoa, that’s crazy, hell no, what’re you smoking? Okay, it was mainly the board who told me that, Ray would just brainstorm with me. But now I’m supposed to be that person. What if I screw it all up? Hire an anarchist who destroys the energy grid or something?”

Oliver snorted quietly at that far-fetched scenario. “Well, Dig did promise an upgraded energy grid so I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” Felicity pulled back to send him a dirty look and punch him lightly in the arm.

“Ow,” he exaggeratedly complained with a small smile, and she rolled her eyes. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? Remember what I told you in Kentucky? If you ever need to tell someone about your day, you can tell me.”

Felicity didn’t respond, not verbally at least. She clutched him tighter and nearly buried her face against his chest. He guessed it was the makeup keeping her from making contact but he still reveled in the closeness.

“This is really touching and all, but are either of you actually getting on this elevator?”

They jumped apart at the sarcastic question spoken in a rough voice. Oliver bit back the groan when he sighted the intruder as Vice President Lance. The man was leaning against the elevator door to hold it open and raised a knowing eyebrow at them, his amusement barely concealed.

“Quentin!” Not even her embarrassment could keep the delight out of Felicity’s exclamation. “I mean, Mr. Vice Pres—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Quentin is still just fine, Felicity. Why don’t you two get in this death trap before the alarm goes off?”

Oliver followed Felicity in, raising his own eyebrow at the lack of security accompanying the vice president.

“They’re easily slipped,” the vice president shrugged, “Wilson needs to step up training. In fact, he says there’s a brand new agent he’s assigning you, Queen.”

“Oh joy,” Oliver muttered while Quentin asked about Felicity’s first day so far. At some point in her answer, she laid a hand on his bicep to explain the wonderful surprise of welcome flowers. “Oh yeah,” he interrupted, “Thea wanted to make sure you received those.”

“They’re lovely,” Felicity gushed, her face flushing. “I guess I’ll see her tomorrow night, but if you see her before then, please thank her for me.” Under her breath, or what she thought was under her breath, Felicity added, “Loaded, delusional messages aside.”

Oliver paled as he wondered what exactly his sister wrote on that card. Thankfully, the elevator doors sprung open, saving them both from having to deal with Quentin’s no longer concealed amusement. With an affectionate-for-him farewell, the vice president took his leave, a clearly flustered and relieved agent rushing after him.

“So,” Felicity demurred, the awkwardness lingering again. Oliver cringed internally, waiting for her to bail. “What’s there to eat around here?”

Pausing for a moment to enjoy the knowledge that Felicity was _choosing_ to spend time with him again, Oliver considered their options. “Well, there’s always the Navy Mess, and you could actually get us a table, Madam Director. But you want to get back to work,” Felicity nodded her agreement, “and I only have forty minutes left on my break. So I guess Ike’s.”

“Ike’s?” Felicity echoed, falling into step beside him.

Almost automatically, Oliver adjusted his stride to keep pace with hers, made even shorter by her heels. “Yeah, prepare yourself to be completely underwhelmed with mediocrity.”

“You say that about everything you don’t cook yourself,” she mumbled in half-hearted complaint, and he nodded seriously.

“Because it’s true of everything I don’t cook myself.”

Felicity nudged him lightly. “Arrogant,” was her retort before smiling up at him.

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted. Somehow, he got the feeling that they would be alright again. _Normal_ , whatever that would look like.

 

* * *

 

_Welcome to DC! I wanted to make sure you had a warm welcome on your first day. Please consider the flowers a token of affection and gratitude. Now that you’re finally here, Ollie can finally stop bouncing off the walls (and beating up the junior agents) in anticipation._

_Your future SIL,  
_ _TQ_

The card slipped from her lifeless fingers as Felicity shook her head in disbelief. One of the office runners had brought up the flowers, and she puzzled over them for a minute while trying not to get her hopes up that Oliver was the sender. With a harsh reality check, she finally reached for the card, only to discover the unpleasant surprise within.

Unpleasant was a strong word. Thea was being sweet and considerate in wanting to brighten up her first day. Adjectives that didn’t usually describe Thea given how ruthless she’d been at brunch this past weekend, ribbing Oliver and Sara and Tommy mercilessly, even without the men there to defend themselves.

No, the message was more manipulative and designed to incite. But stirring the pot had never been her favorite pastime, even if being a woman in tech resulted in a stirred pot by default. She would keep the flowers, but the card needed to be burnt and summarily wiped from memory.

Hurriedly, Felicity bent to retrieve the fallen card. In doing so, getting a good look under her desk gave her a mild heart attack.

One measly power strip? That had probably been there since the 90’s? Oh that was just offensive.

She needed to call someone about this immediately. In her haste to get vertical again, Felicity didn’t notice how close she was to the edge of her desk, clipping the back of her head on the way up. Silently cursing her clumsy nature, she was checking for a lump when Oliver’s voice caused her to jump in surprise. 

Unconsciously, Felicity breathed his name. It felt like forever since she’d last seen him. Even their texting the past few weeks had died down from daily to occasional, both out of necessity because of how busy she’d been and out of respect for the decision he’d made regarding their friendship. With his signals to keep things friendly—sisterly, even—at the front of her mind, she dodged what could have been a hug by drifting to the opposite side of her office.

On the one hand, Oliver sought her out. Secret Service didn’t really hang out in the EEOB unless they were with the vice president, who was clearly _not_ in her shoebox-sized office. Obviously, he came here, to her office, with the very specific purpose of finding her.

On the other, she spent the last few weeks trying to figure out what all went horribly wrong at the inauguration. Apparently, she did such a terrible job of concealing her disappointment about their “just friends” status that it made Oliver uncomfortable around her. He swung wildly between treating her as affectionately as they’d grown used to and reminding her that friends—nay, family—was all that they’d ever be lest she get the wrong idea. 

And that was fine. It had to be. Oliver was a loyal man, fiercely protective of those he loved, and prone to martyrdom that was both intensely frustrating and strangely honorable. _Lucky to call him a friend_ , she repeated to herself for the umpteenth time. Now if only she could remember to stay in that lane.

After rambling about outlets for a good long while, because that was infinitely better than rambling about Thea’s card, Felicity noticed Oliver’s stiff posture. Of course, now was when the man chose to be tuned into her discomfort although he tried admirably to pretend otherwise.

She didn’t mean to be so... abrupt turning down his offers to spend more time together. Each rejection and refusal to engage in their usual dynamic seemed to take a chunk out of him, but the stubborn man kept persisting. She just couldn’t. Not right now with the weight of this job settling on her chest. The half-empty floor served as a harsh reality check that she still needed to fill and _lead_  a federal office. That should be her primary concern, not Oliver Queen’s Valentine’s Day plans.

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from questioning why he’d be attending Sara’s anti-Valentine’s Day party—one day she’ll have to check if her friend was a goth back in high school because then the party theme would make a whole lot more sense—when he could be anywhere else. _With_ anyone else. Not that Oliver ever considered her as girlfriend-material, but she figured with the separation of a few weeks since the let down, possibly to preserve her dignity or be respectful of her feelings or some bullshit, he’d be off to the races.

Obviously, Oliver had no trouble charming women on the campaign trail. As far as she could tell, he only stopped in the final stretch of the campaign because the job required his laser focus. Although he’d been in DC for months already, he seemed to have spent the time establishing a routine and helping Thea settle in. Now, with Felicity firmly reminded of their friendship and her expectations tempered, would be the perfect time to get back out there, so to speak.

His answer, though, was just so _Oliver_. Could the man dial down the intensity a notch or two? See, this was why she spent so much time misreading him. His words said one thing, but _the way he said them_ said another. And made her feel extremely guilty for doubting him in the first place.

That guilt was the only reason she felt it necessary to approach. To take his hand and, in her own way, let him know that his efforts were seen and appreciated. Not until Oliver tried to leave did the words spill out in a much more expressive way.

She couldn’t let him go thinking this weirdness between them was his fault. It _was_ his fault in the way that she had all these unrequited feelings for him building up within her and she was constantly on edge, worried that at any point they would spill over and out and truly destroy their friendship. But she supposed it wasn’t actually his fault for being so damn lovable and oblivious to it.

Because somehow the man knew her well enough to call her out on skipping lunch if left to her own devices but couldn’t see the way he held her heart in his hands. His sudden assertiveness, when he’d resignedly accepted her other attempts to dodge him, surprised her. That was the only reason Felicity allowed him to literally steer her out of her office and to the elevators.

_Or you’re too tired of actively avoiding Oliver when any time with him would be the time of your life_ , her heart countered her brain. Stoically, she ignored the debate her internal organs were having.

With the smallest of smirks— _smug brat_ —Oliver countered her half-hearted protests until the underlying (work-related) reason for her anxiety unexpectedly slipped out. And like he had been for months now, Oliver was there for her with the right words and the right tone. Before she could figure out if it was her heart or her brain or her heart _and_  her brain acting, Felicity found herself in his arms. Just barely, she managed to resist nuzzling against his chest, his white shirt and her made-up face being a sufficient deterrent.

Then, of course—because her life was ever-destined to be an embarrassing disaster—the vice president had to interrupt their little moment. The first time in ages where she hadn’t felt obnoxiously clumsy around the man who claimed to be her best friend. Not that she was unhappy to see another familiar face, especially the vice president’s, but Quentin could have better timing.

Nevertheless, she happily chatted with her surrogate father figure in the elevator ride down, doing her best to pretend Oliver’s looming presence beside her didn’t make her jumpy. It was—well, she wouldn’t say _easy_ but—possible until she brought up the flowers. Then Oliver visibly stiffened and the color drained out of his face with the louder-than-she-intended mention of Thea’s message. Although he tried not to make it obvious, Quentin picked up on his reaction based on his smirk and sudden interest in the elevator floor.

Message received.

Just because Thea interpreted Oliver’s behavior one way didn’t mean that way was correct. He was obviously uncomfortable with the idea of Thea sending her unsubtle messages or trying to matchmake the two of them. And with Oliver proving what a good friend he wanted to be despite this awkward fumbling between them, the least Felicity could do was meet him halfway.

So when they exited the elevator, Quentin departing with his usual gruffness, Felicity didn’t make up an excuse like she wanted to. No, she tamped down that instinct and committed to their lunch. Her reward was Oliver’s small smile and the subtle relaxation of his shoulders.

Maybe they could do this friends thing after all.

 


	14. Bird’s Eye View: Skyhawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla Michaels (Diggle) gets shit done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For _some_ reason, I felt the need to dig this back up. Can’t possibly imagine why in today’s world.

Lyla Michaels (Diggle) always thought of herself as a practical woman.

After all, she was the one to keep a level head when Sara Lance had fallen for Nyssa al Ghul, who was generously described as “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” and saw the situation for the diplomatic benefits it could provide. Aside from, you know, her friend’s happiness. Consequently, she was the one to talk Nyssa down from the ledge of bloody, bloody revenge when Sara had been shot during the campaign, but Johnny pointed out that she was just reaping what she’d sown in supporting Sara and Nyssa’s relationship. 

She was even the one to suggest changing her last name to appease the “family-minded” constituents who were judgmental of their previous marriage and divorce. The less said about that, the better. 

No, actually, it was utter bullshit. 

There, she was done.

All in all, Lyla was a smart, logical woman—nay, a former commander of a covert military organization—who wasn’t above some dirty pool to achieve her objectives.

Johnny knew that full well when they first married and he knew it even better the second time around.

After two years of barely any communication, the man came barreling back into her life, wild-eyed and guns a-blazing, when he heard the rumor of a rumor that she’d run into trouble even she was struggling to wiggle out of. Her plan to sex him back into a relationship, and eventually marriage, was as obvious as it was reciprocated. He couldn’t claim ignorance of her wily ways  _now_.

“Of course I set you up to lecture Oliver so I’d win the pool. What did you think I was doing that for?”

Johnny fixed her with a disbelieving and censorious look that she’d long grown immune to. “Concern for our friends’ well-being? You said you’d been talking to Felicity about her stress level compounded with everyone’s focus on the her and Oliver situation.”

With a sly smile, she hedged, “I  _was_  talking to Felicity about those things...”

“Because you brought it up to plant the idea in her head all the while disguising your evil machinations as friendly concern,” Johnny groaned, dropping his head back against the headboard. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

“You were a little preoccupied,” she shrugged dismissively, “It’s not like there wasn’t a natural disaster to deal with. And I wouldn’t call my machinations  _evil_.”

“You conspired against our friends to win a betting pool.”

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. Johnny could be so  _sensitive_  sometimes. “It wasn’t  _against_  them. It was  _also_  out of concern for their well-being. And, you know, everyone else’s sanity. You can’t deny that they’re deliriously happy together.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he grumbled, “I haven’t even been in the same room with them since it happened.”

Well, no, but he’d agreed to that by rearranging Oliver’s schedule  _not_  to coincide with Felicity’s meetings with the executive office. It was certainly a shake up from just a few weeks ago when they’d been rearranging Oliver’s schedule  _to_  coincide with Felicity’s meetings with the executive office. Yeah, they were pretty shameless.

Like anyone could blame them after nearly a year and a half of trying to matchmake two people who never got out of their own damn heads long enough to look around them.

At least now she knew what Johnny was really upset about. He missed their friends. As much as she despised the formality of the role, Johnny probably suffered the most from the lack of social interaction. He just had too many damn feelings sometimes and needed to be surrounded by his friends and family. And not just surrounded by, but actually communicating with, which, to be honest, they mostly sucked at even without the barriers of formality and decorum.

The wheels in her head started turning.

 

* * *

 

“You keep calling me in here for closed door meetings, and everyone’s going to think we’re having a torrid affair,” Sara quipped as the door snicked closed behind her.

Lyla pursed her lips together to smother the amusement. “Flattered, Agent Lance, but you’re not my type.”

“Ah, but you’re mine.”

Even though she was amused by Sara’s unapologetic brashness, Lyla sent her a serious look.

“Putting a sock in it, ma’am.” Sara mimed zipping her lips shut then sprawled in the chair on the opposite side of her desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Johnny needs a burner.”

Lyla had been the CO for Sara’s first tour. She’d seen Sara go from a naïve yet fearless teenager to a hardened and withdrawn soldier. Fearless still, but in a more dangerous, more self-destructive way. As inconvenient and unprofessional as it could be, the younger woman regaining her sass and irreverence, to an extent, was an accomplishment Lyla was proud of. This was all a roundabout way of saying that it had been a long time since Lyla had witnessed a shocked Sara Lance. As Sara finally snapped her jaw shut, Lyla worked to hide her smirk.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think you just asked me to provide the president of the free world with a burner phone.” After a slight pause, Sara tacked on, “More than likely, so he can see what stupid meme we’re all laughing about this week. Bonus points if it’s about Ollie and Felicity.”

Instead of explaining herself like Sara probably hoped for, she nodded tersely. “Thank you, Agent Lance. That will be all.”

As if summoned by the gods of fortuitous timing, her executive assistant knocked on the door and permitted the social secretary’s entourage entrance. Sara was unceremoniously shuffled out of the office. Lyla barely caught sight of her eye roll before she was swarmed.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Mama?”

The voice surprised her, and she snapped her head up from the pile of papers on her desk. As first lady, she had the opportunity to choose her own initiative to champion, and women in the military had been the obvious choice. Maybe it wasn’t as warm and cuddly as previous initiatives, but it was her background and experience. Screw the traditionalists and their thoughts on a woman’s  _place_  in life. The working group had left her new proposals (finally) that she was just now finding the time to review. 

Stupid social calendar.

Even though she immediately recognized the voice, Lyla didn’t really believe it until Johnny appeared in her office doorway. “ _There’s_ Mama!” he exclaimed in the almost baby voice she personally referred to as “ovary-exploding.”

“Oh, loves of my life, where have you been?” She automatically reached her arms up for a squirmy Sara who was excitedly chanting “Mama!”

Johnny sent her an amused look. “Waiting on you for dinner.” Lyla did a double-take at the desk clock then scowled at his haughty look. Clearly, he was enjoying being on the other side of the equation for once.

“Sorry,” she rushed through the apology. “It’s just the—”

“Women in military initiative,” he finished for her, “I know it’s important.” Lyla gave him credit for stopping there and not tacking on the “ _to you_ ” the media always did. “Do you want to work through dinner? Sara and I could have a daddy-daughter date.”

“No, I could use a break.” She shifted Sara, unwieldy as she was, onto her hip and rose to her feet. “Do you mind grabbing those for me, though? Bedtime reading.”

Sara babbled at her about her day, and Lyla hummed along encouragingly as Johnny gathered the pile of papers into a semblance of order.

Suddenly an unfamiliar beep sounded, simultaneously with a beep from her purse. Johnny paused guiltily, and she waited until he looked up at her to raise a knowing eyebrow. Lyla stifled her laugh as she placidly commented, ”Well, I guess Agent Lance has gotten even more efficient.”

“This was you?” he questioned, incredulous, holding up his new burner phone.

“Oh, honey. It wasn’t Santa Claus,” she scoffed.

Sara shrieked at the name and started listing, more like  _demanding_ , things, and just what the fuck was a  _Beebo_? She and Johnny stared at each other in disbelief and horror before hustling back to their residence. Yet all attempts during dinner to distract their toddler were unsuccessful. 

Lyla swore then that whoever taught their almost two-and-a-half-year-old about Santa was going to die. 

Okay, probably just get a stern talking to.

 

* * *

 

“ _Dinah!_ ”

The other woman visibly cringed and maybe looked for a place to hide in the crowded hallway.

Lyla didn’t give her a chance but stomped her way through the crowd, shouldering past those who lacked the good sense to move out of her way. “What the _hell_ is this? You’re bumping the initiative announcement?”

“Ma’am,” she attempted, tone already placating and apologizing, “I’m just doing my job.”

The reminder redirected Lyla’s temper to the true source of her anger. Dinah must have sensed it, too, because she quickly pointed down another hallway. “He’s in with the joint chiefs.”

With a dark look at the agent who tried to stop her, Lyla bit out, “Good thing I never forfeited my clearance.” In another life, another world where certain _barriers_ didn’t exist, she would _be_ a joint chief, and not the put-upon little lady.

The room jumped when she entered, some of the less senior officers rising to attention out of habit. Johnny froze in his chair, his face dropping then contorting into a wince.

Very calmly, deceptively calmly, she announced, “The initiative goes live today. _You_ will wait a week for the new program so that, natural disasters and wars permitting, it can garner the media coverage it deserves. Good day, gentlemen.”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve created a monster,” Felicity accused, speaking mostly into her wine glass in case any of their many lip readers were paying attention.

On her other side, Sara snorted indelicately. “Two if you count Spitfire. And we do.”

Lyla smiled despite herself. Almost two years into this gig and they were all finally saying a hearty “fuck you” to the traditionalists. That meant regular family dinners and gradual chipping away at the hastily erected barriers of formality until they got back to a place where they could tease and be teased. Lyla would happily listen to her friends jokingly rip on her husband and child as long as they stopped calling her Mrs. Diggle on the regular.

Across the room, Johnny and the rest of the crew were huddled around his burner phone, setting up a fantasy league for some dumb thing or another. She would give him more shit for it if they hadn’t all had a terrible month and could use the mindless distraction. Somehow, even Nyssa had been drawn into the mix, leaving Sara to commiserate with her and Felicity.

“Violate the rules and you shall cease to find intercourse pleasurable, Harper!”

Oh, right, the  _somehow_  of getting Nyssa involved was just appealing to her hyper competitive nature.

No one bothered to hide their snickers of amusement at Roy’s look of pure terror. Good thing Thea was out of town for a bachelorette party. Although once Nyssa’s stink eye roved around the room, everyone quickly settled down.

“Felicity!”

That was Oliver, complete with puppy dog eyes, calling for his girlfriend. The technological savant rolled her eyes, handed off her wine, and went to fix whatever Johnny had mucked up with her custom fantasy league software. Maybe they should add gambling problems to the long list of reasons they all needed therapy.

Johnny forfeited his phone easily and came over to her at the same time Nyssa pulled Sara to the group.

“What’s the bet this time?”

“Don’t gloat just because you won the biggest pot to date. Nothing’s going to beat Oliver and Felicity,” he complained, nudging her elbow. “Now you’re “retired” and all uppity about our juvenile games.”

A smug smile slid onto her lips before she could stop it. “You calling me old, Diggle?”

He mimed offense before chuckling a denial. Despite the sudden bout of levity, the stress was still almost physically visible in his frame. Lyla reached up a hand to smooth over the gray hairs that were creeping in by his temples.

Johnny caught her hand and pulled it away, brushing a quick kiss against her fingertips. “Don’t start,” he warned tiredly. She’d made a number of dye job jokes in the past six months, and, well, he must really love her to forgive them all.

“I’ll give you that one,” she conceded with a loving smile. “Take your victories when you can get them.”

With a weighty look at her then their friends, Johnny smiled, genuinely and truly for the first time in weeks. “Every day.” 

 


	15. The Events of: September 4, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, probably none of this is logistically accurate but have you seen an Arrow episode lately? (Also, I’m starting to worry my browser history with research for this fic is going to get my ass flagged by the federal government.)

“Oliver, I love you, but get your face out of my neck.”

Her boyfriend— _boy_ friend? she couldn’t imagine calling this grown man a title with the word “boy” in it—didn't respond. Not verbally at least. He did poke his tongue out to lick against the side of her neck in a move that was probably supposed to settle her and was somehow sexier and less gross than it sounded.

“Going to suffocate for your comfort. Can’t believe this is how I die,” Felicity continued to grumble, trying to work her limbs out from under his mass. She liked his mass, she really did. After all those years of looking and fantasizing, he was finally hers for the touching and... being suffocated under. God, he was heavy. How had she even fallen asleep in this position anyway?

“You suck right now.”

It was hot. The morning sun beaming through the windows did nothing to help the slowly dying humidity of late summer. Especially when her air conditioner was in dire need of service. At least he wasn't radiating heat onto her, somehow, but more oxygen would help. She swatted at his shoulder, scratched her nails along the back of his neck how he liked, did everything short of humping him from below, and still nothing.

“I’m not actually,” Oliver finally mumbled. Her forehead creased until she rewound to the last complaint she lobbed at his mostly unconscious form. “Could be though.”

Felicity enthusiastically nodded her agreement, but she tried to keep her voice casual as she replied, “That would start to make it up to me.”

In a split second, Oliver was no longer an immovable object compressing the air out of her lungs, but hovering inches above her and wildly grinning. Her entire body shivered in response. Yeah, “boy”friend was grossly inadequate.

 

* * *

 

“Director Smoak!”

The angry yell—shout,  _explosion_ , whatever—caused multiple people to stop in their tracks, but she didn’t react. Not until a large hand wrapped around her bicep and hauled her back a few feet. Immediately, she found her field of view taken up by an infuriated Australian with roughly the build of a tank. Of course it was Slade—Secret Service Director Wilson, she meant.

“Don’t!” Slade cut her off when she opened her mouth, “I can appreciate your concern, but you need to stay the hell out of the way of my people.”

Any further argument was moot because Dinah appeared out of nowhere, her police lieutenant days coming in handy to restrain and pull her away. The agents on the frontline looked relieved. No one was volunteering for the task of manhandling, one, a federal director and, two, Agent Queen’s girlfriend.

Dinah finally shoved her into the small space between two police vans and squared herself up to block the opening. “You need to calm down. They can’t focus on what's happening inside if they’re too busy trying to subdue you out here.” Felicity irrationally considered tackling the other woman for a moment before conceding with a huff.

After waiting another second to make sure she was settled, Dinah softened and offered, “Come on, I staked out a spot in the command center.”

Slade gave her a long look when she climbed in but once she quietly slotted herself into a corner with Dinah, he turned back to his lackeys. The noise of the operation faded to the background while her panic reaccelerated. The fear manifested more internally this time, her throat clogging until she wanted to gasp for air, bile rising up from her stomach until she nearly retched.

Who else was inside? Sara? Roy? She couldn’t remember if Lyla had been scheduled for this event. Was Quentin already stashed in a safe house? Had someone told Thea yet?

Felicity had been on her way home from work—she had forgotten about the president’s speaking engagement and was stuck in nearby traffic from the closed roads—when she received the alert on her phone.

A rogue someone—or someone _s_ ,  _plural_ , holy shit—situation was unfolding where President Diggle was addressing a group of college students. The university hall was on lock down while they searched for the perpetrator loose in the building.

She didn’t even remember forcing her way through multiple lanes of traffic, just haphazardly parking her car and rummaging for the running shoes that were  _somewhere_  in her trunk. When she sprinted to the scene a few blocks away, only a miracle of privilege and infamy from that damn meme helped her make it past the initial line of police tape. Without that stupid joke, there was no way in hell anyone would have recognized the president’s science advisor. 

“Felicity!”

“Director Smoak!”

“Smoak!”

That was Dinah. And Cisco. And even Slade.

She swallowed down the bile and refocused. They stared at her expectantly until Cisco cleared his throat to repeat, “I’m having trouble with the cameras. Our comms are down, too. Someone in there must have a jammer. Can you—”

Cisco didn’t even finish before she was shoving the nearest person out of their seat to take over. Focusing on the task at hand, Felicity drowned out the sound of Slade commanding his minions to forget everything they were about to watch her do. Her fingers flew as she hacked her way into every camera in the building, uncaring about the privacy implications of the federal government’s powerful technology. As she accessed cameras, Cisco ran the footage through facial recognition software, looking for both known threats and anyone who didn’t match in the Secret Service roster. The command center sat in stunned silence while they tag-teamed the task with unprecedented efficiency.

Then Etta James crooned.

“ _At last my love has come along..._ ”

The other week, Thea set the song as Oliver’s ringtone as a joke, and Felicity— Well, the song selection was as accurate as it was annoying so she had left it for the time being. Felicity froze for a split second, hands hovering over the keyboard, before swiveling to stare at her purse, abandoned in the corner.

“ _Damn it, Smo—_ ”

“That’s Oliver,” she blurted out, overcoming the shock.

Dinah dove for the bag, retrieving the phone and tossing it to Slade. He motioned for silence before answering the call on speaker and very quietly barking out an urgent, “ _Queen_!” There wasn’t a response, not immediately, but soon they heard shuffling then an unfamiliar voice echoing as if from farther away.

Felicity tuned out the diatribe of who she assumed was the interloper, focusing instead on accessing Oliver’s GPS location through the open line. It was easy to find. Not that she had ever, or would ever, hack Oliver’s phone, unless it was for an extremely good reason like national security, but his work phone did technically belong to the federal government. Even if she had modified his phone to the point his call managed to get through when everything else was down. Once Cisco overlaid the coordinates onto the building blueprints, they waved Slade back over to discuss the issue of having a two-dimensional location in a three-dimensional building with multiple floors.

Without another task to tackle, Felicity sat back at a loss, registering her surroundings again. The voice on the call was getting louder, clearer, and not just because Slade was standing closer to her. Oliver must be approaching the suspect, or the suspect was approaching him, but she didn’t have much faith in Oliver’s capacity to avoid risk. Something else was different, too. There were beeps, touch tones really, as if he were accidentally pressing the keypad. 

“Four!” She didn’t give Slade time to be exasperated with her outburst. “Fourth, I mean. They’re on the fourth floor. Oliver’s pressing four in Morse code. Just wait for it.”

It was a lengthy pause. Felicity thought he might be having to hide his phone or hand motions from view. In fact, she was starting to think she had imagined the beeps. Finally, they sounded again.

“Four,” Slade confirmed with a nod and a slightly impressed look before giving his orders.

Felicity didn’t react. She was sure someone would have caught it eventually. She just heard it first. 

Dinah came up from behind to squeeze her shoulder, and Felicity placidly accepted the comfort until she remembered. She jerked upright from her slumped position, going to work on the disabled communications system until the command center was once again filled with whispered chatter from the agents inside. Only then did she melt back into the uncomfortable chair once more.

“Best. Hacker.  _Ever_ ,” Cisco commented from beside her with awe tinging his tone.

“Damn straight,” Felicity muttered.

With  _really_  nothing else to do, her eyes found Slade on the other side of the command center, staring at a different bank of monitors and directing the infiltration team. Rationally, she knew she’d done all she could to help. That didn’t mean she could sit passively while the operations continued around her.

Felicity bolted out of the chair and the command center itself. Slade still had her phone so she could do nothing but pace alongside the massive vehicle. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Oliver, and Sara and everyone else, would be upset that she was leaving herself out in the open like this. If someone dangerous came out of the building, she was surrounded by officers and agents but unarmed, untrained, and technically unprotected. A perfect human shield. The smart thing would be to go back inside, especially to be readily available if they needed her help again.

“Felicity!” That was Dinah, calling her from the door of the command center, “You got your air now get your ass back inside.”

At the same time, there was a commotion by the building’s front doors. Her instinct was to move towards it, but Dinah firmly caught her arm. “ _Inside._ It’s not safe. Oliver doesn’t know you’re physically here but he’d lose his mind if he knew how much unnecessary danger you’re putting yourself in right now.”

Reluctantly, Felicity acquiesced to Dinah’s direction. Her friend was right, and the last thing she wanted was to be a liability or a distraction. Oliver had some kind of Felicity-radar, similar to her Oliver-radar. If he realized she was out here, in harm’s way, he’d have trouble doing his job protecting the man who was not only his president but also his brother and best friend. Because that’s how much he loved her, and, god, she loved him so much in return.

“I’ve never told him,” Dinah looked at her in confusion, “That I love him so much. I mean, I’ve told him I love him, but not that I love him  _so much_.”

Dinah rolled her eyes—honest to goodness,  _rolled her eyes_ —as she shuffled her back into that corner. The grunt Felicity had shoved out of her way earlier reclaimed his seat so there was nowhere else for her to go. Before deigning to respond, Dinah boxed her in, presumably so she couldn’t take flight again.

“I’m pretty sure Oliver knows, but you’ll have plenty of opportunities to tell him later as long as you don’t get yourself killed.”

That was Dinah’s last comment on the topic before she focused back on the activity. Right, this was all probably interesting to her as former law enforcement and good detail to have as press secretary. Felicity tried to take comfort in the possibly imagined reduced tension in the command center although it was hard to tell what was actually going on since they kept speaking in code. She might have found Morse code interesting enough to have Oliver teach her, but she wasn’t actually privy to the inner workings of the Secret Service.

“Smoak!”

She snapped her head up to find Slade staring at her intently. The command center had mostly cleared while she’d apparently been forcing herself to space out to avoid a deep, dark spiral. Cisco was still at his station, and Dinah was at the other end simultaneously being debriefed, taking notes, and talking on her cell phone. Speaking of phones, Slade held out hers then jerked his head towards the door.

“Good work tonight. Get out of here.”

Felicity took the dismissal for what it was. He wouldn’t be divulging information to her since it was so obviously above her clearance level, but things were too calm to have gone poorly. At least, she hoped. She tried to convey her gratitude for his competency at his job through a polite nod. No idea if it worked, but he grunted at her in acknowledgement.

With nothing left to do, Felicity picked up her purse and emerged from the command center into a veritable circus. The barricade from earlier had to have been repositioned because there was now a troupe of news cameras positioned within sight and as close to the building as they could get with the still-remaining law enforcement. Crowds also pushed in around the barrier, and she wondered how long the ordeal had been over that they allowed media and civilians nearer to the scene.

Trying to get her bearings, she blinked rapidly a few times against the flashing police lights and the news crew flood lights. Dinah was likely to stay on scene for longer, and Oliver was probably wherever the president was. She needed to figure out where she abandoned her car, somewhere in the vicinity of her usual route home, and pray it hadn’t been towed.

“ _Felicity!_ ”

With a surprised jerk, Felicity turned back to the command center, but it was quiet. Then she registered the voice as Oliver’s and spun slowly to try to spot him.

_There._

He worked his way through the chaos towards her, not from the building itself but from an entry point near the street. His suit was rumpled, his tie was askew, and his face, the same face she kissed that morning before work, was lined and weary in a way that suddenly made him look years older. His expression remained inscrutable despite the distance he determinedly covered, and she despaired as he drew nearer.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Felicity always worried that they were one difficult situation away from Oliver turning tail and running. Not because he didn’t love her or didn’t want to be with her—though those insecurities flared up from time to time, too—but because he operated under some insane delusion that he and their relationship made her life unnecessarily dangerous.

“What are you doing here?!”

Yeah, she was so not going to enjoy this conversation. He took her firmly by the forearms and twisted her this way and that, as if she were a small child and he was looking for an owie. Finally satisfied that she was unharmed, Oliver pushed her back his full arm’s length. He moved his hands to her shoulders before heaving a sigh and then crushing her against his chest.

Despite having just been treated like his own personal ragdoll, Felicity went willingly and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly as if that were an outlet for all her anxiety. His hands stroked restlessly along her back, but it wasn’t until he dropped his head down to the top of hers for a shaky breath that she remembered. Dinah would call her ridiculous, but she had to.

“Oliver, Oliver,” she muttered into the fabric of his jacket. Her hands worked their way between them to find enough purchase to create just enough space for her to look up at him. “I love you  _so much_.”

Oliver’s forehead scrunched, and he looked up, avoiding her gaze. This was it. Felicity braced herself for rejection, some kind of disappointment. Who was she to think she could solve Oliver’s myriad issues through the power of  _love?_  At least she took advantage of that one last opportunity to try to impart just how much he meant to her.

“I love you so much, too,” he stated quietly. A simple fact that made her smile until he immediately stepped away from her and tried to walk it back. “But you shouldn’t be here.” She heard the unspoken “with me.”

“ _You_  called  _me_ ,” Felicity pointed out as if logic was enough to sway his stubborn ass. “On some level, Oliver, you had to recognize that I’m not some helpless damsel in distress who’s going to run at the first sign of trouble.”

“I don’t think we’re having the same conversation?” His confused puppy expression would be adorable if it weren’t so frustrating.

“This is the one where you try to convince me that your life is too dangerous and we shouldn’t be together?” Looking caught, Oliver nodded. “Right, well, I’m just fast-forwarding to my rebuttal so why don’t you just fast-forward to the part where you agree with my infinite wisdom?”

“Felicity...”

“I love you. I love you so much I was just freaking out to Dinah that I’d never specifically told you that “I love you  _so much_ ” and may not ever get the chance to because you might have been in a life-or-death situation. I also make my own choices, and I am choosing a life, no matter how dangerous, with the man I love. You always remind me that I’m not doing this alone. Well, you aren’t either so I’m asking you to let me be that person for you.”

Felicity wanted so badly to reach for him but she knew it would be too much. Oliver needed to meet her halfway. Otherwise, this relationship, which she’d been holding up as the best of her (to be fair, limited) romantic endeavors, wasn’t the partnership she thought it was.

“You’re always going to be that person for me, Felicity. I know we’ve been together awhile now but after events like this, I don’t—” He blew out a steadying breath. “I don’t know another way of handling it.”

That wasn’t a complete rejection. It was even almost encouraging. More encouraging than his tacit acknowledgement that his way might not be the best way was Oliver’s expression. He looked hopeful that she might read between his lines.

“There’s always another way,” Felicity reached for his hand this time, “Do you want to figure it out together?”

An almost teasing smile quirked his lips. “I would love that  _so much_.”

Instead of rising to the bait, Felicity finally, properly, enthusiastically jumped into his arms. Oliver’s sheer strength kept her suspended while she buried her face in his neck with a quiet sob.

“Hey, what? What’s wrong?” His soothing held the underlying, stereotypical panic of men who didn’t really know how to deal with emotional women, and Felicity laughed at the unexpected return to normalcy. “Felicity?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she murmured, pulling her head back to meet his confused eyes. “I’m just really glad you didn’t die.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he agreed with a tight smile. “Thanks to you. Slade said you saved the day.”

Felicity leveled him with a skeptical look. “Slade said something positive about my being here? He was half a second away from having me thrown in the back of a patrol car when I showed up.”

Oliver’s lips turned up in a small smile, the one he used to use when he didn’t want to admit he found her amusing. “He said something about you being too smart for me. I extrapolated.”

“Not when you’re using words like ‘extrapolated’. You’re already getting life-affirming sex, mister. No need to stack the deck.”

There was a full-blown smile this time. He picked her up, swung her around, and kissed her hard. The reunion she’d hoped for but knew would be postponed by Oliver’s Oliver-ness. When he set her back down, they were both breathless and smiling. Then, the reality of the situation, lights and sounds and  _cameras_ , crashed back in, and Felicity groaned.

“Oh no. We’re going to be a meme again, aren’t we?” Surprisingly, Oliver laughed. “Do not carry me out of here bridal-style, or, I guess,  _Bodyguard_ -style,” she warned, recognizing the shit-stirring look in his eyes.

“Queen!”

The mischievous look in his eyes dimmed as Oliver turned to find Slade looming in the doorway of the command center. The director wore his perpetually annoyed expression, and Felicity fought the urge to hide behind Oliver’s broad shoulders. She wasn’t about to lose whatever respect she’d just gained from Slade by cowering from him now.

“Why aren’t you at the briefing still?”

“Briefing’s over,” Oliver shot back succinctly before tacking on, “ _sir_.”

“Over when  _I_  say it’s over,” Slade grumbled with an eye roll. Literally, just one eye rolled. It was a testament to the respect they had for each other that he only huffed at Oliver’s irreverence before slamming the door shut behind him.

Felicity tugged on his hand. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back or we end up on the local news again.”

With an amused grin, he wrapped an arm around her waist. Maybe it wasn’t technically carrying her, but Felicity’s toes barely grazed the pavement as he tucked her into his side and hauled her towards an exit. Not even the best of DC’s police force could keep the reporters from yelling out questions and suggestions as they slipped through the staggered barricades and down a small alley between two buildings.

“Home,” he stated firmly, and she nodded eagerly in agreement even if she didn’t quite know if he meant hers or his.

They emerged into a courtyard, deceptively calm despite the hoopla going on a short distance away. Oliver looked at her expectantly, and Felicity stared back until she remembered. “Aw, crap. We need to ping my car. I have no idea where I left it.”

His incredulous stare lasted a few seconds before he almost chuckled, “You ran here?” He inched forward, stepping onto the toes of her nearly pristine running shoes. “Yeah, you really do love me so much.”

Felicity shot him a dirty look. Everyone was well aware of how much she  _hated_  cardio and  _loved_  shoes. Her phone beeped with her parking location, and she groaned, noting that it was more blocks away than she remembered running. “Can we just go back to this morning? When my biggest problem was you almost accidentally smothering me in bed?”

“Or when  _my_  biggest problem was  _you_  almost accidentally smothering me in bed?” Oliver parroted her words back then arched a suggestive eyebrow.

Felicity immediately flushed, remembering how he repaid her for refusing to move off her. At least she got an amazing orgasm out of it. Oliver— Well, actually, he did enjoy cuddling the shit out of her (and she him). Before, after, during, asleep, awake, all of the time really.

“Home,  _now_ ,” she returned, “life-affirming sex is a go.”

This time, Oliver didn’t have to half-carry her. Her running shoes ate up the distance to the car faster than he’d ever seen her move before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the ILYSM was unabashedly lifted from B99.


	16. The Events of: December 24, 2016, December 12, 2017, and December 2, 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look at Oliver’s and Felicity’s first three first days of Hanukkah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I’ve been living with random pieces of this ‘verse floating around my head for over a year. 
> 
> Oliver’s ignorance is my ignorance. Funny, how I keep finding convenient little excuses like that in life.

**DECEMBER 24, 2016**

Thea finished winding a thick scarf around the high and zipped collar of her new winter coat. She shoved a white knit cap on top of her head and pulled it down over her ears before sliding on a pair of leather, cashmere-lined gloves. Her eyebrows to her top lip were about all Oliver could actually see of his sister. “Okay, I’m ready,” she finally declared.

He sighed, a touch fond and a touch exasperated. “I checked. It’s the same temperature in Starling as it is here. You look ridiculous.”

After arriving last week, Thea’s first stop had been the boutiques where she proceeded to accumulate a _real_ winter wardrobe in less time than it took most people to walk their dogs. Oliver was secretly relieved for Tommy’s (lawyer’s) zealous guarding of her trust fund from the creditors. Otherwise, there was no way his government salary would have been able to withstand the hit.

“It _feels_ colder,” she responded as if that were enough logic to overcome meteorology then frowned at him, “Hey, why so glum, chum? It’s Christmas Eve. It’s, like, your favorite thing in the world.”

No, his favorite thing in the world was a woman three time zones behind them, probably getting ready to light her menorah, the one she kept in her office window after accepting the inevitability of never reaching home in time to light it at the appropriate time, not even on a Saturday night _and_ the first night of Hanukkah. All of which he knew from their last text message exchange confirming that she had gone into the (empty) office and was only half-heartedly trying to leave for lack of anything else to be doing. Only Thea’s presence in DC kept him from jumping on the next plane to San Francisco, or Oakland, or even San Jose. But that was far more than his nosy, romantic-at-heart, little sister needed to know. 

“Yeah and we’re going to be late so let’s go already,” he prompted instead of addressing her last comment. The crowd at the Diggles—Sara, Walter, Quentin, and a number of others who’d been on the campaign trail—were sure to comment on his “glumness” and the obvious-to-them reason behind it. He didn’t need Thea primed for a gossip-finding mission.

Thea eyed him suspiciously as she toddled past him in her best Stay Puft Marshmallow Man outfit. “Oookay. _Weirdo._ ”

“You look like a walking marshmallow,” he shot back to distract her.

Thea scoffed dismissively. “Just you wait. I’m bringing this look back. Giant puffy jackets are going to be all the rage in two years.” She paused in the doorway to add, “I know it’s because you miss the infamous Felicity,” before taking off at a run.

After pausing to lock the door, he caught up to her at the stairwell. They both cracked up laughing when his tackle/bear hug compressed an audible _poof_ out of her jacket.

 

* * *

 

**DECEMBER 12, 2017**

“Sara!”

Oliver flagged her down as she was preparing to leave the gym they both frequented. With a friendly smile, she tugged out her earbuds and waved at his approach. Probably no one would guess that the short blonde with a backwards hat and side braid was also a Secret Service agent who could take multiple bullets and still do her job, but Oliver got the feeling Sara liked it that way.

Awkwardly, he adjusted his gym bag on his shoulder, taking care not to disturb the package in his other hand. The bright blue wrapping paper looked comically out of place compared to their black workout clothes, but he’d already put the effort into learning how to wrap a present in the first place. No going back now.

“For me?” she prompted. The teasing grin was just a little stiff, and he sensed she knew the favor that was being asked. “Aww, you shouldn’t have. Christmas is weeks away, and we all know I procrastinate on that stuff.”

After a quick check of his mental calendar, he frowned. “It’s in thirteen days.”

“ _Weeks_ ,” Sara insisted with a hand wave. “What can I do for you?”

“If you don’t mind,” he shifted on his feet, “would you give this to Felicity for me?”

Sara just stared at him challengingly. Belatedly, Oliver wondered why he ever thought it would be less awkward to coincidentally run into Sara during her usual morning gym time on her afternoon-shift days than to just sneak into Felicity’s office while she was out. Fewer witnesses, diminished chance of running into his friend who was doing her best to avoid him after the mistletoe fiasco, or something. _Logistics_ , he reminded himself unconvincingly.

“This is weird timing,” she finally muttered. Before Oliver could respond, Sara had swung her backpack around so she could dig around in its depths. “I grabbed coffee with her early this morning. She asked me to give this to you.”

Finally, Sara’s hand emerged with a small box wrapped in green plaid paper, slightly crumpled due to its mode of transportation.

So Felicity didn’t plan on seeing him _at all_ before Christmas, which was, according to his own calculations a moment ago, nearly two weeks away? They used to get antsy if they didn’t see each other at least every other day. How did one stupid prank fuck everything up so badly?

Oliver wasn’t sure what his expression was doing, but his hand shook as he reached out for it. Sara huffed a sigh, a slight eye roll was naturally included, and pulled the gift away slightly. “Or you could just go give yours to her and exchange gifts in person like normal people.”

“Felicity’s been avoiding me since the holiday party, and I’m not going to force her to spend time with me,” Oliver pointed out logically, “Plus, she’s leaving.” Which had to be the reason she hedged her bets and asked Sara to deliver his present.

“Not until Monday night.” _Or not._ “You really think Felicity could stand, one, being in the same house as her mom for a full week and, two, being out of the office for a full week? Come on, snowball’s chance in hell for either of those things.”

He shrugged listlessly in response. His mind was definitely made up now, and Sara wasn’t going to talk him into making Felicity more uncomfortable that she already was around him. “Well, I’m off today, and you’re going in so I just figured... It’s the first night of Hanukkah. I just want her to have a gift, okay? Is that so wrong?”

The sarcasm and prickliness bled out of Sara, and she adopted an encouraging but frustrated expression. “Look, I know Thea was out of line with the mistletoe stunt, but you two should really just talk to each other. Be _honest_. Clear the air, you know? Because it doesn’t take a genius, although for some reason our resident genius _can’t_ , to see you’re all heart when it comes to Felicity. It’s not a bad thing.”

He choked on the clear air. “Nothing to clear. Felicity and I have never been like that. And she’s obviously not interested or—” Oliver clamped his jaw shut. From the look on Sara’s face, it was too late, and he’d already given too much away.

Frustrated, Oliver snatched his gift from her relaxed grip and replaced it with his for Felicity, not giving her time to argue. Sara managed to get in a parting shot anyway. As always.

“You guys are _tragic_ , you know that? And I nearly had to _duel_ Nyssa’s father, with _swords_ , to the _death_ , just so he’d go back to pretending our relationship doesn’t exist. What does it say about you, Ollie, that I’m starting to find a man who calls himself Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, reasonable by comparison?”

“I need new friends?” he offered, deadpan, in time for Sara to scoff and walk away.

 

* * *

 

**DECEMBER 2, 2018**

“Oliver! Oh my god, Oliver! Where did I put them!?” Felicity sensed him entering the living room and advanced on him, panicking. “Have you seen a box—”

Her shoulders slumped, and the tension drained out of her where she stood. Sheepishly, Oliver presented the box she’d been desperately searching for. One of his hands held the open box and lid, and he nervously fiddled with a white and blue candle with the other.

“Sorry. They were on the coffee table last night when everyone was over, and I didn’t want them to get misplaced so I put them in the hall closet for safekeeping.” 

Felicity rushed him, reaching up to pull his face down to her so she could pepper kisses all over him. “You thoughtful, thoughtful man. Don’t ever apologize for things like that.”

Oliver beamed back at her before growing unsure again. From what he gathered, lighting the menorah could be personal and private, and he didn’t want to intrude as an outsider. But his curiosity got the better of him. After all, if he had any say, tonight would be the first of many nights they would be together as Felicity observed her faith in this way. 

“I thought I could watch you light them? Learn something?”

“Yes, of course!” she nodded eagerly, taking him by the hand to pull him towards the window sill where she had set up her menorah. “You know this is our first holiday season together? I guess I hadn’t really realized it with Christmas still being so far away.”

“A lot of firsts this year,” he nodded back, still introspective. 

The almost disastrous but hilarious first Thanksgiving not even two weeks ago immediately came to mind. There was very little in life more adorable than Felicity, glasses fogged from opening the oven door, brandishing a proud smile and a slightly burnt turkey. To be fair, he’d played his own part in distracting her from the cooking time.

“A lot of _lasts_ , too,” Oliver added under his breath.

Fixing him with a confused yet probing stare, Felicity asked, “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

After a quick look of agreement, she set to lighting the candles and saying the blessings before he answered her question. Oliver studied her intently and subtly tried to mouth the Hebrew along with her. When she noticed, Felicity gazed back at him with an almost indescribably moved expression.

Oliver took her hand and led her to sit on the couch. He set aside the box she was still packing to send to Donna for the last night, the night they traditionally exchanged gifts, and he knew she’d be paying for express shipping if she didn’t finish soon. Felicity sat cross-legged, sideways on the couch to face him, and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“I meant you’re my last first. Last first kiss, last first time, last romantic “I love you.” You’re just it for me. I hope I am for you.”

Chuckling, Oliver helped her as she tried to lunge for him, forgetting her legs were crossed and unbalancing back onto her butt. With one quick movement, he settled her onto his lap where she wrapped her arms around his neck. He expected her to kiss him, but Felicity pulled back slightly instead, smiling softly and nuzzling her nose against his.

“For someone who barely talks sometimes, you’re stupid good at words. And for someone who talks _all the time_ , I never seem to say what’s actually important. But ‘tis the season for gratitude and celebration so I’m going to try my best. Oliver, I don’t think I ever really believed in miracles until I met you. Sure, they happened on some grand scale, when the entire world accidentally conspires to suck a little less than usual, but not in this everyday wonder type of way. Now it’s the only word that comes to mind when I think about you, us, how much I love you, how you make me feel.”

Oliver almost felt scared to blink, as if that minuscule, momentary action would break whatever spell Felicity had woven with her words. 

Her forehead wrinkled as she regarded her next words carefully, hands adjusting to grip the sides of his face. “Thank you for being my miracle. Not just during the holiday season, but today and every day. I mean, even when we were just friends, I never knew what I did to deserve—”

He couldn’t wait to let her finish. As much as he loved that Felicity was his best friend, aside from his honorary brothers in Tommy and Dig, Oliver was focusing much more on how their friendship  _evolved_. Intent on showing Felicity just what she deserved, he sprang to his feet, as carefully as possible with a rambling girlfriend stowed in his arms, and carried her towards her bedroom. 

Felicity was just as caught up until he felt her pressing on his shoulders. “Wait, no,” she gasped against his lips, “here, _here!_ Need to watch the candles. Or else we might literally burn up the sheets. Can you imagine setting off the smoke alarm in this cold? My neighbors would kill us.” 

Something about her turn of phrase jogged his memory as he tumbled her back onto the couch. In seconds, Oliver was laughing while Felicity pouted at him from below. She crossed her arms over her chest, and Oliver basically fell on top of her, trying to keep her in place as she squirmed in offense and he composed himself. 

“I’m just remembering something from my last two first days of Hanukkah,” he smiled at her softly, “Puffy jackets are back, and we finally cleared the air.”

Felicity frowned at him until his lingering amusement won her over. She never could stay annoyed when he was so demonstrably happy. Instead, she started tugging at his shirt. “I have no idea what any of that means, but take off your clothes while you explain it to me.”

The season for gratitude and celebration indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2017\. Felicity’s gift to Oliver was a pair of cuff links. He once mentioned how the first pair Moira and Robert gave him had been lost with the manor (during the move, because Tommy/Thea didn't know to keep track of them, etc.) so Felicity studied photos from past events he’d attended wearing them and had them remade. Oliver’s gift to Felicity was a box of homemade sufganiyot, which he nearly burned his fingertips off and apartment down making, and a jewelry box for her infinite collection of earrings and necklaces but currently filled with gelt.


End file.
